Fic: An Introduction
Title: An Introduction
Characters: Elena Munez, Miguel Alvarez
Storyline: Solar Flares
Rating: General
It was hot. Fucking hot and muggy and just … Florida. Fucking Florida. With bugs big enough to ride and hurricanes always off some horizon and sharks in the water. At least it was pretty and she wasn't about to knock a pretty view or the fact that they were here at this festival when really, they were still just knocking on the doors to awesomeness. They'd opened the second stage and there might have been fifty people, already drunk, who wandered over and it had been amazing.
Someday - she glanced up at the main stage and the crew running around to set up - someday they'd be there. Headlining. Screaming out their words to twenty or thirty thousand rockers and metalheads. She'd watch the circle pits open in the center of the throng, pits for her music, and she'd own the night. But today, she'd rocked out with fifty drunk diehards and some of them had known their shit and the merch line had been one of drunken questions and adorable selfies and she was more than satisfied with her place in the day's music rundown.
Now if only the temperature would go down.
Tipping her water bottle back, she groaned and realized that it was empty and despite drowning in the water in the air, she needed more. A fresh one appeared before her and she looked over, half expecting to see her father. Hathor Rising was about to go on. But instead it was a vaguely familiar man with waist length dreads and a smile fresh out of "How to be a Hot Metal Head" magazine.
"Aquí," he said. "Te ves tan sediento como el resto de nosotros."
"Gracias," she said. "¿Cómo sabías que yo hablo español?"
"I saw your set earlier," he replied in English. "You guys do that chorus of Rock Show in Spanish."
She grinned and glanced at his lanyard. No hint of the band. So she took a sip of her water and wondered if she looked as much of an idiot as she was sure she did. "Thanks! I'm sorry … I..."
He laughed and held out a hand. "Miguel Alvarez," he said. "Contando Dragon. We were on right after you, so we got to watch but you had merch stuff."
"Story of my life," she said. "It's good to meet you, Miguel. I’m Elena. Elena Munez."
"Gathered that from the intros at the show," he said. He cracked the lid on his bottle and drowned half of it in one gulp. "You guys are fucking awesome, by the way. None of the rest of us on that stage could measure up."
"That's crap," she said, "But thanks for the vote of confidence. This is our first huge festival. We've done the smaller ones but nothing this size yet."
"We just started doing them a couple years ago. Takes some getting used to." He was still smiling. She liked his eyes. They were dark, dark brown but with golden specks. The dragon thing made sense. "So?" He tilted his head. "Chicana?"
"Cali by way of Tejas," she said. "Papi is Tejano by way of Monterrey and Mami is white."
"Ooooooh," he winced. "Makes the lighter skin make sense but that couldn't have been easy in LA."
"More common than not out there, but I was raised in the Hills so it was a whole different bit of bullshit," she said. "You?"
He grinned. "Dad's from Mexico, came here when he married my mom. She was a Mormon missionary down in Mexico City. Sent her down cause she spoke the language. She met my dad and left the church."
"That's fucking awesome," Elena grinned.
"Monterrey ...?" He raised an eyebrow. "You guys all gangsta?"
"Careful, ese," she teased. "You never know who is watching."
"Shit," he looked around. She giggled. He looked back and winked and then she watched the familiar light click on. Yup. That one. Where his shoulders straightened a bit. Because she wasn't just herself anymore. She was Carlos Munez's kid and not her own bass player or anything. She loved her father. She worshiped her father. There were times she wished cute boys wouldn't change how they interacted with her because of him. "Hathor Rising," he said, shaking his head. "What a fucking legacy to live in to. What's that like?"
She shrugged and at least gave him credit for not really gawking. "I think it's kind of like how like … the little brothers of Jesus must have felt you know. That idea that you can't ever really live into that greatness so you're just going to be glad it's there."
"Shit, lady. You're amazing. I'm just wondering what that's like is all."
She chuckled and shrugged. "It's …" okay. She'd be honest. "It's the most amazing thing in the world. I am part of that. Of them. And they put up with my dumb self. I had my hands into everything. I always wanted to know the songs. Wanted to know how it all worked. And they taught me. They could have sent me away. But they taught me. And here I am." She really hoped he wouldn't get into anything else. He was cute and if he wanted a drink she'd buy him one and talking about suicide attempts and brain injuries never went well on the first … what were they doing? Talking? Flirting? Hell if she ever knew.
"That's fucking fantastic," he said. "And you've done those lessons justice."
"Thanks," she said, smiling.
"You want to go watch the next band from backstage?"
She paused. He was grinning that doofy grin and hell, why not. What else was she doing, really? "Sure."
He nodded toward the band entrance and she followed. They were both stopped at security and the guy was more than dubious when checking her credentials. But they made it through and stopped at the water table for another bottle. "You get that a lot?"
"What? Security guys being idiots?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah. They don't believe I can play."
"Then you get on stage."
She smirked. "They still aren't sure."
He laughed and they found a spot backstage on some cases that really seemed to just be taking up space. "I love watching from back here."
"Me too. It's so much … I dunno. Something comforting. Probably goes back to some deep seeded childhood thing."
"When did you go to your first concert?"
"Mami says I was five. I only remember the show, really. Papi had been on tour for like a year and he was home and there wasn't any way we were going to be separated. So they got me ear plugs and I sat backstage and watched."
"And fell in love?"
"Probably."
The crowd started to scream and they couldn't hear each other over the noise anymore. But she felt a touch on her hand and looked down. He had his phone out and the contact screen open and her name typed into the field. She giggled and took it and typed her number in, pretending that it was the phone that made her have to retype it four times. She knew her number. She really did. Luckily he didn't seem to notice. She slipped the phone back over to him. A minute later hers buzzed and she opened a picture of the backstage - their boots in the frame. He grinned. She returned it and was glad the shadows hid her blushing. He knocked his feet against hers but kept his eyes on the show. She giggled and followed the example. They were getting into their newly converted RV as soon as things broke down tonight. So she'd probably never see Miguel again. But. This was fun. She'd never done this before. Not like this. She'd never spent 45 minutes just snapping shots and sending them back and forth, snapchat style.
When she had to vanish, he took her hand to stop her and pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek.
"I'll text you," he said. "Text me back."
"I will," she said, ducking her head. He touched her chin. "What?" She asked.
"Mictecacihuatl would never bow her head," he said.
"I'm not --"
He only smiled and kissed her cheek again and made his way back into the mess of musicians trying to get to their busses. She watched him go before walking away herself. But she kept looking over her shoulder and hoping he was too.
Characters: Elena Munez, Miguel Alvarez
Storyline: Solar Flares
Rating: General
It was hot. Fucking hot and muggy and just … Florida. Fucking Florida. With bugs big enough to ride and hurricanes always off some horizon and sharks in the water. At least it was pretty and she wasn't about to knock a pretty view or the fact that they were here at this festival when really, they were still just knocking on the doors to awesomeness. They'd opened the second stage and there might have been fifty people, already drunk, who wandered over and it had been amazing.
Someday - she glanced up at the main stage and the crew running around to set up - someday they'd be there. Headlining. Screaming out their words to twenty or thirty thousand rockers and metalheads. She'd watch the circle pits open in the center of the throng, pits for her music, and she'd own the night. But today, she'd rocked out with fifty drunk diehards and some of them had known their shit and the merch line had been one of drunken questions and adorable selfies and she was more than satisfied with her place in the day's music rundown.
Now if only the temperature would go down.
Tipping her water bottle back, she groaned and realized that it was empty and despite drowning in the water in the air, she needed more. A fresh one appeared before her and she looked over, half expecting to see her father. Hathor Rising was about to go on. But instead it was a vaguely familiar man with waist length dreads and a smile fresh out of "How to be a Hot Metal Head" magazine.
"Aquí," he said. "Te ves tan sediento como el resto de nosotros."
"Gracias," she said. "¿Cómo sabías que yo hablo español?"
"I saw your set earlier," he replied in English. "You guys do that chorus of Rock Show in Spanish."
She grinned and glanced at his lanyard. No hint of the band. So she took a sip of her water and wondered if she looked as much of an idiot as she was sure she did. "Thanks! I'm sorry … I..."
He laughed and held out a hand. "Miguel Alvarez," he said. "Contando Dragon. We were on right after you, so we got to watch but you had merch stuff."
"Story of my life," she said. "It's good to meet you, Miguel. I’m Elena. Elena Munez."
"Gathered that from the intros at the show," he said. He cracked the lid on his bottle and drowned half of it in one gulp. "You guys are fucking awesome, by the way. None of the rest of us on that stage could measure up."
"That's crap," she said, "But thanks for the vote of confidence. This is our first huge festival. We've done the smaller ones but nothing this size yet."
"We just started doing them a couple years ago. Takes some getting used to." He was still smiling. She liked his eyes. They were dark, dark brown but with golden specks. The dragon thing made sense. "So?" He tilted his head. "Chicana?"
"Cali by way of Tejas," she said. "Papi is Tejano by way of Monterrey and Mami is white."
"Ooooooh," he winced. "Makes the lighter skin make sense but that couldn't have been easy in LA."
"More common than not out there, but I was raised in the Hills so it was a whole different bit of bullshit," she said. "You?"
He grinned. "Dad's from Mexico, came here when he married my mom. She was a Mormon missionary down in Mexico City. Sent her down cause she spoke the language. She met my dad and left the church."
"That's fucking awesome," Elena grinned.
"Monterrey ...?" He raised an eyebrow. "You guys all gangsta?"
"Careful, ese," she teased. "You never know who is watching."
"Shit," he looked around. She giggled. He looked back and winked and then she watched the familiar light click on. Yup. That one. Where his shoulders straightened a bit. Because she wasn't just herself anymore. She was Carlos Munez's kid and not her own bass player or anything. She loved her father. She worshiped her father. There were times she wished cute boys wouldn't change how they interacted with her because of him. "Hathor Rising," he said, shaking his head. "What a fucking legacy to live in to. What's that like?"
She shrugged and at least gave him credit for not really gawking. "I think it's kind of like how like … the little brothers of Jesus must have felt you know. That idea that you can't ever really live into that greatness so you're just going to be glad it's there."
"Shit, lady. You're amazing. I'm just wondering what that's like is all."
She chuckled and shrugged. "It's …" okay. She'd be honest. "It's the most amazing thing in the world. I am part of that. Of them. And they put up with my dumb self. I had my hands into everything. I always wanted to know the songs. Wanted to know how it all worked. And they taught me. They could have sent me away. But they taught me. And here I am." She really hoped he wouldn't get into anything else. He was cute and if he wanted a drink she'd buy him one and talking about suicide attempts and brain injuries never went well on the first … what were they doing? Talking? Flirting? Hell if she ever knew.
"That's fucking fantastic," he said. "And you've done those lessons justice."
"Thanks," she said, smiling.
"You want to go watch the next band from backstage?"
She paused. He was grinning that doofy grin and hell, why not. What else was she doing, really? "Sure."
He nodded toward the band entrance and she followed. They were both stopped at security and the guy was more than dubious when checking her credentials. But they made it through and stopped at the water table for another bottle. "You get that a lot?"
"What? Security guys being idiots?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah. They don't believe I can play."
"Then you get on stage."
She smirked. "They still aren't sure."
He laughed and they found a spot backstage on some cases that really seemed to just be taking up space. "I love watching from back here."
"Me too. It's so much … I dunno. Something comforting. Probably goes back to some deep seeded childhood thing."
"When did you go to your first concert?"
"Mami says I was five. I only remember the show, really. Papi had been on tour for like a year and he was home and there wasn't any way we were going to be separated. So they got me ear plugs and I sat backstage and watched."
"And fell in love?"
"Probably."
The crowd started to scream and they couldn't hear each other over the noise anymore. But she felt a touch on her hand and looked down. He had his phone out and the contact screen open and her name typed into the field. She giggled and took it and typed her number in, pretending that it was the phone that made her have to retype it four times. She knew her number. She really did. Luckily he didn't seem to notice. She slipped the phone back over to him. A minute later hers buzzed and she opened a picture of the backstage - their boots in the frame. He grinned. She returned it and was glad the shadows hid her blushing. He knocked his feet against hers but kept his eyes on the show. She giggled and followed the example. They were getting into their newly converted RV as soon as things broke down tonight. So she'd probably never see Miguel again. But. This was fun. She'd never done this before. Not like this. She'd never spent 45 minutes just snapping shots and sending them back and forth, snapchat style.
When she had to vanish, he took her hand to stop her and pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek.
"I'll text you," he said. "Text me back."
"I will," she said, ducking her head. He touched her chin. "What?" She asked.
"Mictecacihuatl would never bow her head," he said.
"I'm not --"
He only smiled and kissed her cheek again and made his way back into the mess of musicians trying to get to their busses. She watched him go before walking away herself. But she kept looking over her shoulder and hoping he was too.