Fic: Pottermania
Title: Pottermania
Fandom: Son of Interflux, hint of Who Is Bugs Potter?
Rating: For All Ages
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and am just playing with them. If the Internet is right, fanfiction is several centuries old. It's tradition!
Summary: Simon Irving hated Bugs Potter with a passion.
Further notes: It's calathea's fault. Not in a specific sense, but in the general one. If it weren't for the faniversery...
Simon Irving worldlessly trailed after Johnny. He'd been ecstatic when he'd learned that the Nassau Arts senior class trip was to Toronto; some of the world's newest, hottest artists could be found roaming the galleries, meaning Simon could spend the entire week studying the styles of his competition.
And then Johnny, who'd managed to latch onto Simon as his Senior Chemistry lab partner ("I already explained to everyone else that you can't break up lab partners,"), had dragged Simon out of the hotel shortly before midnight the first night to a ratty club that, while not in the same class as Scuzz, still made him hyperventilate. Dante's Inferno had a long line stretched in front of it, full of rockers and rowdy people of a manner Simon had spent a year and a half getting used to.
A dark-haired boy wearing a red T-shirt emblazoned with silver glitter and pictures of insects stood in front of them in line, drumming absent-mindedly on the brick wall of the club. After about fifteen minutes, Simon was starting to lose his temper.
"Could you please stop that?" he demanded. The boy looked up, gave a half-hearted, sheepish expression, and stopped drumming. Simon, who had grown used to the sort of person this boy obviously was, started counting in his head. At 'eight', the boy started drumming again.
"Winged Tortoise?" Johnny asked of the boy, who glanced up and grinned.
"Yeah! They're my favorite group!"
"I suppose," Johnny said, giving a shrug. "But I just can't get into how they've sold out. It's so...Long Island! I play for the sake of the music, man. If you need to get paid to play, there's no point!"
The guitarist flailed his arms to emphasis his point. "I mean, I remember a couple of years ago hearing about this guy, Bugs Potter. He was this fantastic drummer. He didn't have a band. He didn't have any money. He just showed up at clubs and played. I'd give my right arm to meet that guy."
The dark-haired boy opened his mouth to respond, but another boy, blond and wiry, looped an arm around the blond's shoulder and covered his mouth.
"Look, we're next in line. Let's go, David." David gave a muffled protest as the blond tugged him away into the club's interior. Simon paused next to the door to read a plaque set into the wall. To be honest, it was less of a plaque and more of a piece of wood nailed to the wall.
"Hey, Johnny, look at this."
"What?" The guitarist squinted at the piece of wood. "'Welcome to Dante's Inferno, the site of the first reported performance by Bugs Potter.' That's amazing!"
Simon scowled as he followed Johnny into the club. "I thought you were psyched about this...West Side Clash."
"I was, but Bug Potter, man! He's a legend!"
Simon followed Johnny inside, a sinking feeling in his stomach. There was a point in his life where Johnny had considered Simon a legend. Hell, the whole school had. Admittedly, at the time, Simon had been more concerned with saving his skin than impressing people. More correctly, he'd been more concerned with impressing Wendy Orr than impressing 'people'. The sudden concern with what Johnny Zull thought of him was a startling revelation that would likely force him into an existential crisis that usually prompted other people to come talk at him.
Johnny seemed unaware of Simon's consternation, continuing to talk about the brief month in which Toronto had been engulfed by Pottermania. By the time West Side Clash appeared on stage, Simon was ready to beat Johnny with his chair and tell him that Johnny Zull was a better musician than Bugs Potter and his stupid drums were. Except the last time he'd stood up during a concert, he'd been nearly beaten to death by a sixteen-year-old girl in a corset.
So he suffered through the first set, fuming at the guitarist, who didn't seem to understand that the guitar was made to create music, not noise. Johnny Zull may be loud, but at least the music was high quality.
He angrily nursed a beer through the intermission, listening to Johnny continuing raving about what he'd heard about Bugs Potter. By the time the second set began, Simon had heard all about Bugs Potter's rise to stardom and was heartily convinced that not only would he hate Bugs Potter, if Bugs Potter showed up, he'd storm the stage himself and punch him in the nose.
And then the dark-haired boy, David, got up on stage to the cheers of the crowd and entered into a wild orgy of drumming. Bugs Potter had arrived.
Simon hated being proved wrong. He did, however, slip out of the club twenty minutes later to get away from the noise and Johnny's rapturous look. He'd been stewing in his own feelings long enough that night to be almost entirely comfortable with the fact that his train of thought meant a serious re-evaluation of his life plan vis a vis his options for romance. He could already imagine the discussion he'd have to have with Phil; if he didn't have a good reason why he'd never considered Phil boyfriend material, there'd be problems.
"Simon, you all right?" Johnny might not have been the last person Simon wanted to see at the moment, but he was up there on the list.
"Why aren't you inside? I thought you loved that Potter guy."
Johnny shrugged. "He's pretty good, but I couldn't sit by while my lab partner was in trouble. You've been down all day, so I thought some high-quality rock would cheer you up."
"Wait...you brought me to Dante's Inferno to make me feel better?"
Johnny nodded, some of his natural energy bleeding back into his movements. "Of course. I don't know what else you do for fun, but I figured no one doesn't like rock music. And I thought you'd be psyched when Bugs Potter showed up. He's like the best drummer in the world!"
"You think I'm impressed by that? My lab partner's the best guitarist in the world! And maybe I'm a little annoyed that he was sitting in that club drooling over some drummer!"
And Simon, who apparently made a habit of getting worked up over things and then doing something stupid, grabbed Johnny and kissed him. It wasn't great, because neither of them had really expected it, and Simon got a little uncoordinated when he was aggravated. When he pulled away, it was with the same revelation of his incredible stupidity with which he was intimately familiar.
Johnny didn't seem particularly upset, but then again, he didn't seem thrilled. Hands hanging at his side, he was watching Simon with the same sort of focus he carried when playing the guitar. A cautious optimism uncurled from Simon's stomach. He took a step forward.
Johnny took a step forward.
Inside the club, the music reached a crescendo followed by the wordless scream of hundreds of voices cheering.
Johnny leaned towards Simon.
And then the bond boy, tugging David, or, rather, Bugs Potter, burst from the back alley of the club. Simon swore as the blond knocked him backwards; Bugs crashed into Johnny and sent the two of them sprawling to the ground.
"Get up, get up, get up!" the blond shrieked, then, with a surprising strength hauled Bugs from the pavement and shoved him away from the club. "Sorry about that!" he shouted, and then they were gone. Simon turned to Johnny, intent on finishing whatever had been about to happen, but then the mob burst from the club, and the police arrived.
*
"Wait...you and Johnny? You and Johnny?" Phil was almost hyperventilating. "I can't deal with this."
"Why? Don't tell me you're-"
"I'm offended you're not attracted to me! Come on; look at me!" Phil gestured at his face. "I might not be Sam, and Sam, I would have understood, but I'm attractive, right?"
Simon hadn't really had time to think about this; he'd almost expected this sort of reaction, but he and Johnny had gotten distracted. They'd been thrown out of at least three art galleries, and been to six more clubs. Bugs Potter had shown up at four of them, which meant the two of them had had their fair share of jail time, and not enough time to explore anything more exciting than a few attempted make-out sessions at concerts.
"Well, I don't-" And then it hit him. "Look, I'd have made a pass at you, but really, Phil, you've just got a lot of potential."
"Really?"
"I've never met a man who had more potential at dating. Your expertise, your advice, I just realized it'd end in disaster."
"Oh." That seemed to calm Phil down and let him take off on another train of thought. "So...Johnny? A man like that's gotta be good with his hands, right?"
Simon sputtered, then laughed.
Fandom: Son of Interflux, hint of Who Is Bugs Potter?
Rating: For All Ages
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and am just playing with them. If the Internet is right, fanfiction is several centuries old. It's tradition!
Summary: Simon Irving hated Bugs Potter with a passion.
Further notes: It's calathea's fault. Not in a specific sense, but in the general one. If it weren't for the faniversery...
Simon Irving worldlessly trailed after Johnny. He'd been ecstatic when he'd learned that the Nassau Arts senior class trip was to Toronto; some of the world's newest, hottest artists could be found roaming the galleries, meaning Simon could spend the entire week studying the styles of his competition.
And then Johnny, who'd managed to latch onto Simon as his Senior Chemistry lab partner ("I already explained to everyone else that you can't break up lab partners,"), had dragged Simon out of the hotel shortly before midnight the first night to a ratty club that, while not in the same class as Scuzz, still made him hyperventilate. Dante's Inferno had a long line stretched in front of it, full of rockers and rowdy people of a manner Simon had spent a year and a half getting used to.
A dark-haired boy wearing a red T-shirt emblazoned with silver glitter and pictures of insects stood in front of them in line, drumming absent-mindedly on the brick wall of the club. After about fifteen minutes, Simon was starting to lose his temper.
"Could you please stop that?" he demanded. The boy looked up, gave a half-hearted, sheepish expression, and stopped drumming. Simon, who had grown used to the sort of person this boy obviously was, started counting in his head. At 'eight', the boy started drumming again.
"Winged Tortoise?" Johnny asked of the boy, who glanced up and grinned.
"Yeah! They're my favorite group!"
"I suppose," Johnny said, giving a shrug. "But I just can't get into how they've sold out. It's so...Long Island! I play for the sake of the music, man. If you need to get paid to play, there's no point!"
The guitarist flailed his arms to emphasis his point. "I mean, I remember a couple of years ago hearing about this guy, Bugs Potter. He was this fantastic drummer. He didn't have a band. He didn't have any money. He just showed up at clubs and played. I'd give my right arm to meet that guy."
The dark-haired boy opened his mouth to respond, but another boy, blond and wiry, looped an arm around the blond's shoulder and covered his mouth.
"Look, we're next in line. Let's go, David." David gave a muffled protest as the blond tugged him away into the club's interior. Simon paused next to the door to read a plaque set into the wall. To be honest, it was less of a plaque and more of a piece of wood nailed to the wall.
"Hey, Johnny, look at this."
"What?" The guitarist squinted at the piece of wood. "'Welcome to Dante's Inferno, the site of the first reported performance by Bugs Potter.' That's amazing!"
Simon scowled as he followed Johnny into the club. "I thought you were psyched about this...West Side Clash."
"I was, but Bug Potter, man! He's a legend!"
Simon followed Johnny inside, a sinking feeling in his stomach. There was a point in his life where Johnny had considered Simon a legend. Hell, the whole school had. Admittedly, at the time, Simon had been more concerned with saving his skin than impressing people. More correctly, he'd been more concerned with impressing Wendy Orr than impressing 'people'. The sudden concern with what Johnny Zull thought of him was a startling revelation that would likely force him into an existential crisis that usually prompted other people to come talk at him.
Johnny seemed unaware of Simon's consternation, continuing to talk about the brief month in which Toronto had been engulfed by Pottermania. By the time West Side Clash appeared on stage, Simon was ready to beat Johnny with his chair and tell him that Johnny Zull was a better musician than Bugs Potter and his stupid drums were. Except the last time he'd stood up during a concert, he'd been nearly beaten to death by a sixteen-year-old girl in a corset.
So he suffered through the first set, fuming at the guitarist, who didn't seem to understand that the guitar was made to create music, not noise. Johnny Zull may be loud, but at least the music was high quality.
He angrily nursed a beer through the intermission, listening to Johnny continuing raving about what he'd heard about Bugs Potter. By the time the second set began, Simon had heard all about Bugs Potter's rise to stardom and was heartily convinced that not only would he hate Bugs Potter, if Bugs Potter showed up, he'd storm the stage himself and punch him in the nose.
And then the dark-haired boy, David, got up on stage to the cheers of the crowd and entered into a wild orgy of drumming. Bugs Potter had arrived.
Simon hated being proved wrong. He did, however, slip out of the club twenty minutes later to get away from the noise and Johnny's rapturous look. He'd been stewing in his own feelings long enough that night to be almost entirely comfortable with the fact that his train of thought meant a serious re-evaluation of his life plan vis a vis his options for romance. He could already imagine the discussion he'd have to have with Phil; if he didn't have a good reason why he'd never considered Phil boyfriend material, there'd be problems.
"Simon, you all right?" Johnny might not have been the last person Simon wanted to see at the moment, but he was up there on the list.
"Why aren't you inside? I thought you loved that Potter guy."
Johnny shrugged. "He's pretty good, but I couldn't sit by while my lab partner was in trouble. You've been down all day, so I thought some high-quality rock would cheer you up."
"Wait...you brought me to Dante's Inferno to make me feel better?"
Johnny nodded, some of his natural energy bleeding back into his movements. "Of course. I don't know what else you do for fun, but I figured no one doesn't like rock music. And I thought you'd be psyched when Bugs Potter showed up. He's like the best drummer in the world!"
"You think I'm impressed by that? My lab partner's the best guitarist in the world! And maybe I'm a little annoyed that he was sitting in that club drooling over some drummer!"
And Simon, who apparently made a habit of getting worked up over things and then doing something stupid, grabbed Johnny and kissed him. It wasn't great, because neither of them had really expected it, and Simon got a little uncoordinated when he was aggravated. When he pulled away, it was with the same revelation of his incredible stupidity with which he was intimately familiar.
Johnny didn't seem particularly upset, but then again, he didn't seem thrilled. Hands hanging at his side, he was watching Simon with the same sort of focus he carried when playing the guitar. A cautious optimism uncurled from Simon's stomach. He took a step forward.
Johnny took a step forward.
Inside the club, the music reached a crescendo followed by the wordless scream of hundreds of voices cheering.
Johnny leaned towards Simon.
And then the bond boy, tugging David, or, rather, Bugs Potter, burst from the back alley of the club. Simon swore as the blond knocked him backwards; Bugs crashed into Johnny and sent the two of them sprawling to the ground.
"Get up, get up, get up!" the blond shrieked, then, with a surprising strength hauled Bugs from the pavement and shoved him away from the club. "Sorry about that!" he shouted, and then they were gone. Simon turned to Johnny, intent on finishing whatever had been about to happen, but then the mob burst from the club, and the police arrived.
*
"Wait...you and Johnny? You and Johnny?" Phil was almost hyperventilating. "I can't deal with this."
"Why? Don't tell me you're-"
"I'm offended you're not attracted to me! Come on; look at me!" Phil gestured at his face. "I might not be Sam, and Sam, I would have understood, but I'm attractive, right?"
Simon hadn't really had time to think about this; he'd almost expected this sort of reaction, but he and Johnny had gotten distracted. They'd been thrown out of at least three art galleries, and been to six more clubs. Bugs Potter had shown up at four of them, which meant the two of them had had their fair share of jail time, and not enough time to explore anything more exciting than a few attempted make-out sessions at concerts.
"Well, I don't-" And then it hit him. "Look, I'd have made a pass at you, but really, Phil, you've just got a lot of potential."
"Really?"
"I've never met a man who had more potential at dating. Your expertise, your advice, I just realized it'd end in disaster."
"Oh." That seemed to calm Phil down and let him take off on another train of thought. "So...Johnny? A man like that's gotta be good with his hands, right?"
Simon sputtered, then laughed.