Old Band Drabble
This was a story I started a long time ago about marching band. I only have this much written, but it's not too bad.
=^.^=
"ATTEN HUT!!"
"Bite me," Ally muttered, but snapped into attention anyway. It was over 90 in the shade, the sun seemed to be doing it's best to burn every available inch of skin it could reach, and the solid block of ice that she'd frozen into her water bottle had already melted. She was hot, sweaty, and irritable.
And it was only 10:30 in the morning.
"Easy commander..." one of her bass drummers murmured to her from behind her. She thought it was Beth, but she wasn't sure. Ally took a deep breath without visibly moving as she concentrated on her newest responsibility. Her line.
She had just been promoted to drum line section leader, even though she was just a junior. The guy before her (who, in her own opinion, had been a brute of an idiot with cinder blocks for feet) had up and quit right before band camp, so she'd stepped into the slot as easily as the trumpets made their crude jokes. There were five girls on the line, not including herself. Three were bass drummers, one was a quad, and there was one other girl snare. There was also the same amount of guys, so things evened out when there were disputes.
Unfortunately even the pride in her line could distract her from her foul mood. Ally's day hadn't started off good. Her brothers had piled their football (Seth) and soccer (Caleb) stuff on top of her band shoes, so she had to spend twenty precious minutes of her morning digging through sweaty, stinking male... Stuff.
As if that wasn't enough to sour the day, her mom had been in the kitchen by the time she'd made it in there, meaning she couldn't sneak her usual morning coffee. Mother had a strict 'No coffee before you're 18' rule. Add to that the fact that her 80 Ford Pinto Wagon wasn't working and her one of her brothers had to give her a ride to and from practice equaled... A very bad tempered Ally.
Which was more than just a little dangerous.
After a few hellish moments of stiff silence, the band director called, "Alright, at ease," and the whole band relaxed as one. Ally stole a few moments of inattention to block Collins' ranting about the tuba's marching (which she knew sucked, since they'd been within eye distance of her during warm-ups) to unscrew the top of her water bottle and steal a quick drink. She wiped off the stream of water that had dribbled down her chin as she screwed the cap back on and clipped the bottle back into position on the belt loop at her back.
Ally had a sudden chill, which was quite odd occurrence for the 90-something temperature. A moment later, there was a sudden feeling on the back of her head, like someone had just run a phantom hand through the shorter hair there.
"What do you want, Murdoch?" she asked without turning around. Ian Murdoch, the older drum major out of the three, was the only person that did that to her. Ally gritted her teeth against the small jerks in her stomach, trying to make sure that the odd feeling didn’t show on her face. She didn’t know why she reacted that way. She was pretty sure it wasn't the fact that he was attractive, though he was. His hair was the amazing shade of auburn that seemed to be a reddish brown until touched by anything that resembled light. Then threads of bronze and copper and gold appeared, giving him an almost halo in bright enough light. He was tall too (A staggering 6' 5", which towered over her puny 5' 4"), with muscles that could only be gotten from hard work, not working out. And then there were his eyes...
Big, brown eyes that turned to a hard wood color when stubborn, cinnamon when angry, and a deep chocolate when focused on something.
Not that Ally cared or paid attention to things like that. That couldn't be part of what made her aware of his presence, wherever he was, on the field or otherwise. She’d over heard the other drum girls talking about their ‘crushes’ and Ally assumed that’s what this was.
But did have to be so damned inconvenient?!
"Nice hair, Parthenapolis," the young man said dryly, one eyebrow lifted in a questioning manner. It wasn't his conversational skills that make her heart have fits and her stomach dance that she was sure of.
"Collins okayed it, Murdoch," Ally growled as she turned to give the arrogant male a blank look, seeing his eyes were edging towards that wood color... ‘Focus, Parthenapolis...’ “I'm going to be shoving it all up in my hat anyways." She tucked one of the space blue locks in question behind an ear. She'd dyed it the night before, since she'd already gotten it cut as short as her mother would allow. As if remembering the new length, she lifted a hand and touched the strands that fell right below her ears in a pageboy style. The layers the stylist had assured her would look stunning did nothing more than get in her eyes, but other than that it was exactly what she had wanted. Realizing the movement could be taken as a self-conscious gesture on her part, she yanked her hand back down to her side.
"I wasn't going to lecture you about it," he returned calmly, giving her his 'I'm in charge, and you're lucky I'm patient' look. He was, thankfully, unaware of Ally’s motions. "I was just going to comment on how it matched the multitude of earrings you seem to collect and ask why blue?"
"One, it's not 'a multitude," she returned, not leaving her calm, even tone that matched his. She could do monotone with the best of them. "I have seven on each ear, which is fourteen total. And two, why not blue." Her answer was short as she was trying to curb her temper that he seemed to be able to provoke without the slightest effort. It annoyed her deeply that she couldn't control her reactions and emotions with him when she'd been able to do so with every other human that had ever crossed her path. Save her brothers, of whom she wanted to bash their heads in on a daily basis, but family didn't count.
Ally shook her head to get rid of the annoying feeling and said, "Well, as nice as it's been to... chat with you, I have to get the line warmed up. So if you'll excuse me...?"
"Yes, of course," Ian murmured with a note of sarcasm as she walked off, not even waiting for his response. He shook his head in aggravation. He didn't understand why Ally treated him with such coldness and disregard. He got along with all of the other section leaders, hell, he got along with most of the band. And he was pretty sure he'd never done anything to offend her, so this hostility was just uncalled for. And why he even cared disturbed him further. It was just something about the way she always knew he was there before he said something or the way she never backed down when anyone wanted to change something from the drums music that she didn’t like. Her nonchalant arrogance and her pure nerve sometimes amazed and annoyed the hell out of him.
And he was usually the laid back type of guy. Having been a saxophone for the previous two years, and still doing so for the wind and jazz ensembles, he wasn’t the type of person to get stressed out about much of anything. But that female...
With a snarling mutter under his breath, Ian shrugged the feeling off, and briskly walked towards the tuba's to do 'Collins Damage Control'. He was, of course, oblivious to the clustered saxophones that were watching him intently.
"Well, that was educational," Alan, the sax section leader murmured. The others made noises of agreement. "Looks like we have a definite possibility in #D11, eh guys?"
There were more affirmative noises and grins spread through the group as they all nodded. Then, as one, the turned inward in a circle and started to warm up.
<<<>>>
After two hours of endless marching, playing, sweating, and push ups it was time for that oh-so holy hour and a half called...
Lunch.
"Jezu..." Ally muttered as she stuck her drumsticks between her legs and lifted her drum up and over her head. Turning it around, she pulled it back on so that it was backwards and most of the weight was on her back differently. She grabbed her water bottle and her book bag from where they had landed at the end of their last break before heading over to the drums.
"You walking up to the high school?" Asked Duncan, the second leading snare. Duncan McNair drove a beat-up Chevy pick up and usually gave rides to his fellow percussionists.
"Yeah, I need the cool down," Ally said, hefting her bag over a shoulder and clipping her water bottle to a handy belt loop. The park where the band practiced was a few blocks from the school, so it wouldn't take her too long to get there.
"Well, okay..." Duncan shrugged, then hefted the bass drum that had been handed him into the back of his truck. He gave Ally an appraising look before finishing. "Suit yourself."
Ally nodded, pulled her MP3 player out of her bag, then slipped one of the earpieces of her headphones on and started walking.
She got about a block before the first one honked.
"See ya there, commander!"
Ally waved as Duncan’s truck zoomed by, full of drummers. Not even two seconds passed before there was another honk.
"Looking good, Parthenapolis!"
"Eat dirt, Stans," Ally retorted as the VW buss full of trumpets passed. 'And next is..' Ally thought.
"Don't wear yourself out, Parthenapolis!"
"Whatever Crossling," Ally called as the red van full of trombones and tubas went by. Ally just kept walking. Halfway there...
"You showing off again, Parthenapolis?"
"Shove it, Lawrence," Ally remarked coldly, not even sparing the bitchy French Horn section leader a glance. Stephanie Lawrence hated Ally, for whatever reason. Ally's eyes narrowed as the black haired pain zoomed by in her new Mustang convertible. How cliche that it was red. No imagination.
'And that should be it," Ally thought to herself, shifting her double load of her drum and her bag as she kept walking. She lifted the other side of her headphones on so she could fully hear the techno that was thumping out of them. She was oblivious to anything but her music and the rhythmic slapping of her shoes on the pavement. So when someone grabbed her shoulder from behind, she whipped around and almost gutted Ian with her drum.
"What?!" She snapped as she tore off her headphones and tried to calm her now galloping heart with a couple deep breaths.
Ian lowered his hands from their 'Don't hurt me' position in the air and said, "Get in."
"What?" Ally asked again, more confused than angry now.
"Get in the truck," Ian rephrased, motioning to the gray Ford pickup parked behind her. When her golden-green eyes got hard with stubbornness and she opened her mouth to argue, he stalemated her with the ultimate trump card.
"Collins's orders."
Her mouth shut and (after a brief glare) she stomped over to the truck and set her snare in the back and climbed into the cab. Ian heaved a mental sigh of relief as what really happened played back in his head.
<<<>>>
"Sir," Ian said, walking up to Collins as Ally took off.
"Yes, Murdoch?" the band director asked. The small, wiry man was quite intimidating, despite the fact that Ian towered over him. But Ian did that to most people.
"Should Parthenapolis be walking after that strenuous of a practice?" Ian asked, keeping an eye on her progress. He could tell she needed a break, any fool with eyes could. Her white tank top was soaked down both back and front with sweat and why she insisted on wearing baggy cargo pants in this weather was beyond him.
Collins turned and eyed the lone figure that was walking away. "Hmm. Good eye, Murdoch." He turned back to the charts he'd been flipping through as he continued, "Go get her."
Ian, whose mind was already on how he was going to get the prickly drummer in his truck, did a double take. "E-excuse me sir?!" he stuttered, a first for him. That meddling coot couldn't mean what Ian thought he did... Did he?!
Collins looked up and Ian swore he could see the devilish gleam in his eyes. "Go. Get. Her," Collins repeated. "Can't have our head snare collapsing from heat stroke."
"Yessir," Ian replied, then turned on his heel to leave.
"Oh, and Murdoch?"
Ian froze. "Yessir?"
"Tell her it's on my orders. Just to avoid unnecessary violence."
"Yessir."
<<<>>>
Ian sighed mentally as he climbed into the cab and dug the keys out of his picket. He started the truck and they were off.
However reluctantly.
The silence was damn near deadly, as Ally sat glaring out the window with her arms crossed in a defensive position as old as time. She was trying to keep her stomach from doing those odd little loop-de-loops that Ian caused by taking deep, calming breaths. Bad idea. The truck smelled like the blasted man, and not just his cologne (which in itself was pretty addictive). Although how exactly she knew what he smelled like, she couldn’t tell you. And if she though too hard about it, then her nose would wrinkle at the thought of knowing what a guy smelled like. With two brothers, it was her experience that males generally smelled like sweat and dirt.
But not Ian, oh no. That would mean life was simple.
He smelled like pine trees and rain, with just a little bit of leather thrown in.
Damn him.
"What do you have for lunch?" Ian asked, trying to keep the stifling silence at bay and totally oblivious to the girl’s discomfort. He assumed the deep breaths were to keep from wringing his neck, and he was right on that count. Just not out of the irritation he thought.
Ally considered leaving him to stew in the silence. After a moment, she decided against it. 'It's not his fault Collins is a mother hen. He obviously had no idea that I’m having personal issues either, so...' she mentally scolded herself.
"A bagel, I think," she muttered, lifting her book bag up into her lap as she dug through it. "Yeah, a bagel with some cream cheese, a pop, and I think these," at this she held up something that didn't quite qualify as three dimensional, wrapped in plastic, "Were Twinkies. At one point."
"So, a bagel and a pop?" Ian asked, his temper started to rise. She had marched the equivalent of a couple miles today and all she was going to eat was a bagel?! He gripped the steering wheel as he reminded himself that despite the very strong urge he was having to deliver one, Ally was touchy and independent and would not be receptive to a lecture about nutrition.
“Yeah...” She said, leaning back up against the worn seat. Gods, she wasn’t sure when but suddenly every muscle in her body seemed to be screaming at her. Maybe it was a good thing Ian had stopped and picked her up. Shaking her head slightly, she huffed and crossed her arms. That didn’t mean she had to admit it to the male, since if she did he’d probably lecture her about overworking herself. She knew her limits, dammit, and didn’t need for anyone else to bug her about it. Just because in her opinion she wasn’t done until she dropped didn’t mean that everyone else had to fuss. As she continued to mutter in her head Ally unconsciously straightened out her legs.
Ian noticed that she finally stretched out her legs and was relaxed somewhat, despite the slight frown that marred her face. He battled with his face as he tried not to smirk, and won. But barely. He cast around in his mind for a safe topic.
“How’s the line doing?” he asked after a bit, pretty sure of the reaction he would get.
Sure enough, Ally turned to look at him. The guarded expression and crossed arms were gone, to be replaced by a thoughtful look and her fingers drumming in some unidentifiable pattern on the seat.
“Well, I’ll say they’re better than when Shavet was here, that’s for damn certain,” she snorted, naming her predecessor. “We’re still having tempo issues, but that just means I have to work my basses ass’s off. The quads are doing okay and same with us snares, but I swear to God if Collins changes something in the damn music one more time, I’m going to gut him. Right in front of all of those poor, innocent freshmen.” She smirked at the mental image that produced.
“Jeez, Parthenapolis, don’t hold back,” Ian laughed, shaking his head at her vehemence and promised violence.
Ally blushed slightly, then ducked her head o that her hair hid her face. “You asked,” she muttered.
“Yeah, I did,” Ian admitted, noting out of the corner of his eye that she was starting to pull back again. Damn. And they were almost to the school. “Collins is being a bastard about the drum break, isn’t he?”
Her head snapped back up, eyes narrowed as she hissed, “Fuck yes! Damnable man refuses to listen to me when I tell him that we can’t do something, expects us to move like were fucking rabbits in heat while playing at twice the speed of the rest of the band. And stay in step! I’ve got three sophomore’s on the line that barely know their right hand from their left, let alone their god damned feet. I dread the next drum practice we have where he barges in with ‘Oh, I’m just gonna come watch you guys for a bit, I got some more ideas...’ That, Murdoch, is the scariest phrase I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” Ally bared her teeth at Ian, daring him to contradict her.
Instead of the retort she thought she was going to get from him, he sighed ruefully and ran a hand through his hair. “I know. Would it be any comfort to you if I told you he’s being just as bad with the other sections?” Ian offered hopefully as he pulled into the school’s parking lot.
Ally eyed the drum major for a moment, noting the fatigue and exasperation that was in his tone and seeing the sincerity in his face.
“Maybe,” she said grudgingly. “You been getting bitched at by the other section leaders?”
“To say yes would be a very large understatement,” the drum major sighed. He pulled the truck into a spot close to the band room entrance before putting it into park and turning it off. He leaned back in his seat, leaning his head back against the seat with his eyes closed for just a moment of peace.
“Everyone seems to think that just because I’m the most senior of the drum majors that I know what that man is thinking. When, in reality, I’m probably the one that knows practically nothing. For whatever godforsaken reason, everyone thinks that I seem to posses the infinite ability to read Collins’s mind. It’s...”
He drifted off, suddenly realizing that he was ranting. He looked at Ally, who was watching him closely with her head slightly tipped to one side. One idle corner of his mind noted that she looked like his cat did when she was watching a particularly interesting bug. With that inquisitive tilt to her head, the unyielding yet gentle scrutiny of her eyes, and the thoughtful frown across her face Ally was an almost replica of the image. He just wanted to reach out and scratch her behind her ear, just to see what she’d do...
“Frustrating,” he finished lamely, as he violently strangled the urge. Dammit, this was the first time in weeks that he’d been able to get the prickly snare to talk to him civilly. He was not going to screw it up just because he was having this urge.
Ally considered the boy across from her. She always forgot that they were in the same year, since he always seem so much... More. Even though the other two drum majors were either the same year or a sophomore, it was always Ian that was the lead. But evidently it didn’t come as naturally to him as everyone thought. Herself included.
“Well, that’s understandable,” She said slowly, not wanting to say anything that could be taken wrong. She wasn’t that good with words, and was too careless with them most of the time. “I mean, your just a junior and Collins is always treating you like you’re a senior. I think, in a way, he probably thinks you can read his mind too.” She fell quiet, and just to make sure she didn’t say anything more, bit her tongue.
Ian relaxed when the girl didn’t blast at him with a usual harsh reply, and noticed her hesitation. Abruptly, he realized that she was trying to be tactful. Or, at least, as tactful as Ally could. Which wasn’t saying much, but at least she was trying.
He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a few loud thumps on the roof of his cab. They were quickly followed by a face appearing in the driver side window, an irritating smirk and twinkling blue eyes in an angular face that was topped with a mop of curly sandy-blond hair. A fist was raised and gently tapped on the window.
Ally’s head snapped to the window at the tap, then reality came crashing back to her. Gods, was she honestly sitting in Murdoch’s truck having a conversation that didn’t have her gritting her teeth?! Everything suddenly seemed so skewed and off balance that her head started spinning. She had to get out of here.
Ian rolled his eyes as he recognized the grinning idiot outside of is truck. He glanced over at Ally only to realize that she had the door open and was almost out of the truck. “Hey-“ he started, but she cut him off.
“Thanks for the ride,” she muttered, then shut the door. Before he could get out of the cab she’d grabbed her drum from the back and was gone. Bewildered at her abrupt departure, Ian got out of his truck rubbing the back of his head.
Alan whistled, catching Ian’s attention. “Skittish thing, isn’t she?” the sax player asked.
“Apparently,” Ian said absently, still watching Ally walk away
=^.^=
"ATTEN HUT!!"
"Bite me," Ally muttered, but snapped into attention anyway. It was over 90 in the shade, the sun seemed to be doing it's best to burn every available inch of skin it could reach, and the solid block of ice that she'd frozen into her water bottle had already melted. She was hot, sweaty, and irritable.
And it was only 10:30 in the morning.
"Easy commander..." one of her bass drummers murmured to her from behind her. She thought it was Beth, but she wasn't sure. Ally took a deep breath without visibly moving as she concentrated on her newest responsibility. Her line.
She had just been promoted to drum line section leader, even though she was just a junior. The guy before her (who, in her own opinion, had been a brute of an idiot with cinder blocks for feet) had up and quit right before band camp, so she'd stepped into the slot as easily as the trumpets made their crude jokes. There were five girls on the line, not including herself. Three were bass drummers, one was a quad, and there was one other girl snare. There was also the same amount of guys, so things evened out when there were disputes.
Unfortunately even the pride in her line could distract her from her foul mood. Ally's day hadn't started off good. Her brothers had piled their football (Seth) and soccer (Caleb) stuff on top of her band shoes, so she had to spend twenty precious minutes of her morning digging through sweaty, stinking male... Stuff.
As if that wasn't enough to sour the day, her mom had been in the kitchen by the time she'd made it in there, meaning she couldn't sneak her usual morning coffee. Mother had a strict 'No coffee before you're 18' rule. Add to that the fact that her 80 Ford Pinto Wagon wasn't working and her one of her brothers had to give her a ride to and from practice equaled... A very bad tempered Ally.
Which was more than just a little dangerous.
After a few hellish moments of stiff silence, the band director called, "Alright, at ease," and the whole band relaxed as one. Ally stole a few moments of inattention to block Collins' ranting about the tuba's marching (which she knew sucked, since they'd been within eye distance of her during warm-ups) to unscrew the top of her water bottle and steal a quick drink. She wiped off the stream of water that had dribbled down her chin as she screwed the cap back on and clipped the bottle back into position on the belt loop at her back.
Ally had a sudden chill, which was quite odd occurrence for the 90-something temperature. A moment later, there was a sudden feeling on the back of her head, like someone had just run a phantom hand through the shorter hair there.
"What do you want, Murdoch?" she asked without turning around. Ian Murdoch, the older drum major out of the three, was the only person that did that to her. Ally gritted her teeth against the small jerks in her stomach, trying to make sure that the odd feeling didn’t show on her face. She didn’t know why she reacted that way. She was pretty sure it wasn't the fact that he was attractive, though he was. His hair was the amazing shade of auburn that seemed to be a reddish brown until touched by anything that resembled light. Then threads of bronze and copper and gold appeared, giving him an almost halo in bright enough light. He was tall too (A staggering 6' 5", which towered over her puny 5' 4"), with muscles that could only be gotten from hard work, not working out. And then there were his eyes...
Big, brown eyes that turned to a hard wood color when stubborn, cinnamon when angry, and a deep chocolate when focused on something.
Not that Ally cared or paid attention to things like that. That couldn't be part of what made her aware of his presence, wherever he was, on the field or otherwise. She’d over heard the other drum girls talking about their ‘crushes’ and Ally assumed that’s what this was.
But did have to be so damned inconvenient?!
"Nice hair, Parthenapolis," the young man said dryly, one eyebrow lifted in a questioning manner. It wasn't his conversational skills that make her heart have fits and her stomach dance that she was sure of.
"Collins okayed it, Murdoch," Ally growled as she turned to give the arrogant male a blank look, seeing his eyes were edging towards that wood color... ‘Focus, Parthenapolis...’ “I'm going to be shoving it all up in my hat anyways." She tucked one of the space blue locks in question behind an ear. She'd dyed it the night before, since she'd already gotten it cut as short as her mother would allow. As if remembering the new length, she lifted a hand and touched the strands that fell right below her ears in a pageboy style. The layers the stylist had assured her would look stunning did nothing more than get in her eyes, but other than that it was exactly what she had wanted. Realizing the movement could be taken as a self-conscious gesture on her part, she yanked her hand back down to her side.
"I wasn't going to lecture you about it," he returned calmly, giving her his 'I'm in charge, and you're lucky I'm patient' look. He was, thankfully, unaware of Ally’s motions. "I was just going to comment on how it matched the multitude of earrings you seem to collect and ask why blue?"
"One, it's not 'a multitude," she returned, not leaving her calm, even tone that matched his. She could do monotone with the best of them. "I have seven on each ear, which is fourteen total. And two, why not blue." Her answer was short as she was trying to curb her temper that he seemed to be able to provoke without the slightest effort. It annoyed her deeply that she couldn't control her reactions and emotions with him when she'd been able to do so with every other human that had ever crossed her path. Save her brothers, of whom she wanted to bash their heads in on a daily basis, but family didn't count.
Ally shook her head to get rid of the annoying feeling and said, "Well, as nice as it's been to... chat with you, I have to get the line warmed up. So if you'll excuse me...?"
"Yes, of course," Ian murmured with a note of sarcasm as she walked off, not even waiting for his response. He shook his head in aggravation. He didn't understand why Ally treated him with such coldness and disregard. He got along with all of the other section leaders, hell, he got along with most of the band. And he was pretty sure he'd never done anything to offend her, so this hostility was just uncalled for. And why he even cared disturbed him further. It was just something about the way she always knew he was there before he said something or the way she never backed down when anyone wanted to change something from the drums music that she didn’t like. Her nonchalant arrogance and her pure nerve sometimes amazed and annoyed the hell out of him.
And he was usually the laid back type of guy. Having been a saxophone for the previous two years, and still doing so for the wind and jazz ensembles, he wasn’t the type of person to get stressed out about much of anything. But that female...
With a snarling mutter under his breath, Ian shrugged the feeling off, and briskly walked towards the tuba's to do 'Collins Damage Control'. He was, of course, oblivious to the clustered saxophones that were watching him intently.
"Well, that was educational," Alan, the sax section leader murmured. The others made noises of agreement. "Looks like we have a definite possibility in #D11, eh guys?"
There were more affirmative noises and grins spread through the group as they all nodded. Then, as one, the turned inward in a circle and started to warm up.
<<<>>>
After two hours of endless marching, playing, sweating, and push ups it was time for that oh-so holy hour and a half called...
Lunch.
"Jezu..." Ally muttered as she stuck her drumsticks between her legs and lifted her drum up and over her head. Turning it around, she pulled it back on so that it was backwards and most of the weight was on her back differently. She grabbed her water bottle and her book bag from where they had landed at the end of their last break before heading over to the drums.
"You walking up to the high school?" Asked Duncan, the second leading snare. Duncan McNair drove a beat-up Chevy pick up and usually gave rides to his fellow percussionists.
"Yeah, I need the cool down," Ally said, hefting her bag over a shoulder and clipping her water bottle to a handy belt loop. The park where the band practiced was a few blocks from the school, so it wouldn't take her too long to get there.
"Well, okay..." Duncan shrugged, then hefted the bass drum that had been handed him into the back of his truck. He gave Ally an appraising look before finishing. "Suit yourself."
Ally nodded, pulled her MP3 player out of her bag, then slipped one of the earpieces of her headphones on and started walking.
She got about a block before the first one honked.
"See ya there, commander!"
Ally waved as Duncan’s truck zoomed by, full of drummers. Not even two seconds passed before there was another honk.
"Looking good, Parthenapolis!"
"Eat dirt, Stans," Ally retorted as the VW buss full of trumpets passed. 'And next is..' Ally thought.
"Don't wear yourself out, Parthenapolis!"
"Whatever Crossling," Ally called as the red van full of trombones and tubas went by. Ally just kept walking. Halfway there...
"You showing off again, Parthenapolis?"
"Shove it, Lawrence," Ally remarked coldly, not even sparing the bitchy French Horn section leader a glance. Stephanie Lawrence hated Ally, for whatever reason. Ally's eyes narrowed as the black haired pain zoomed by in her new Mustang convertible. How cliche that it was red. No imagination.
'And that should be it," Ally thought to herself, shifting her double load of her drum and her bag as she kept walking. She lifted the other side of her headphones on so she could fully hear the techno that was thumping out of them. She was oblivious to anything but her music and the rhythmic slapping of her shoes on the pavement. So when someone grabbed her shoulder from behind, she whipped around and almost gutted Ian with her drum.
"What?!" She snapped as she tore off her headphones and tried to calm her now galloping heart with a couple deep breaths.
Ian lowered his hands from their 'Don't hurt me' position in the air and said, "Get in."
"What?" Ally asked again, more confused than angry now.
"Get in the truck," Ian rephrased, motioning to the gray Ford pickup parked behind her. When her golden-green eyes got hard with stubbornness and she opened her mouth to argue, he stalemated her with the ultimate trump card.
"Collins's orders."
Her mouth shut and (after a brief glare) she stomped over to the truck and set her snare in the back and climbed into the cab. Ian heaved a mental sigh of relief as what really happened played back in his head.
<<<>>>
"Sir," Ian said, walking up to Collins as Ally took off.
"Yes, Murdoch?" the band director asked. The small, wiry man was quite intimidating, despite the fact that Ian towered over him. But Ian did that to most people.
"Should Parthenapolis be walking after that strenuous of a practice?" Ian asked, keeping an eye on her progress. He could tell she needed a break, any fool with eyes could. Her white tank top was soaked down both back and front with sweat and why she insisted on wearing baggy cargo pants in this weather was beyond him.
Collins turned and eyed the lone figure that was walking away. "Hmm. Good eye, Murdoch." He turned back to the charts he'd been flipping through as he continued, "Go get her."
Ian, whose mind was already on how he was going to get the prickly drummer in his truck, did a double take. "E-excuse me sir?!" he stuttered, a first for him. That meddling coot couldn't mean what Ian thought he did... Did he?!
Collins looked up and Ian swore he could see the devilish gleam in his eyes. "Go. Get. Her," Collins repeated. "Can't have our head snare collapsing from heat stroke."
"Yessir," Ian replied, then turned on his heel to leave.
"Oh, and Murdoch?"
Ian froze. "Yessir?"
"Tell her it's on my orders. Just to avoid unnecessary violence."
"Yessir."
<<<>>>
Ian sighed mentally as he climbed into the cab and dug the keys out of his picket. He started the truck and they were off.
However reluctantly.
The silence was damn near deadly, as Ally sat glaring out the window with her arms crossed in a defensive position as old as time. She was trying to keep her stomach from doing those odd little loop-de-loops that Ian caused by taking deep, calming breaths. Bad idea. The truck smelled like the blasted man, and not just his cologne (which in itself was pretty addictive). Although how exactly she knew what he smelled like, she couldn’t tell you. And if she though too hard about it, then her nose would wrinkle at the thought of knowing what a guy smelled like. With two brothers, it was her experience that males generally smelled like sweat and dirt.
But not Ian, oh no. That would mean life was simple.
He smelled like pine trees and rain, with just a little bit of leather thrown in.
Damn him.
"What do you have for lunch?" Ian asked, trying to keep the stifling silence at bay and totally oblivious to the girl’s discomfort. He assumed the deep breaths were to keep from wringing his neck, and he was right on that count. Just not out of the irritation he thought.
Ally considered leaving him to stew in the silence. After a moment, she decided against it. 'It's not his fault Collins is a mother hen. He obviously had no idea that I’m having personal issues either, so...' she mentally scolded herself.
"A bagel, I think," she muttered, lifting her book bag up into her lap as she dug through it. "Yeah, a bagel with some cream cheese, a pop, and I think these," at this she held up something that didn't quite qualify as three dimensional, wrapped in plastic, "Were Twinkies. At one point."
"So, a bagel and a pop?" Ian asked, his temper started to rise. She had marched the equivalent of a couple miles today and all she was going to eat was a bagel?! He gripped the steering wheel as he reminded himself that despite the very strong urge he was having to deliver one, Ally was touchy and independent and would not be receptive to a lecture about nutrition.
“Yeah...” She said, leaning back up against the worn seat. Gods, she wasn’t sure when but suddenly every muscle in her body seemed to be screaming at her. Maybe it was a good thing Ian had stopped and picked her up. Shaking her head slightly, she huffed and crossed her arms. That didn’t mean she had to admit it to the male, since if she did he’d probably lecture her about overworking herself. She knew her limits, dammit, and didn’t need for anyone else to bug her about it. Just because in her opinion she wasn’t done until she dropped didn’t mean that everyone else had to fuss. As she continued to mutter in her head Ally unconsciously straightened out her legs.
Ian noticed that she finally stretched out her legs and was relaxed somewhat, despite the slight frown that marred her face. He battled with his face as he tried not to smirk, and won. But barely. He cast around in his mind for a safe topic.
“How’s the line doing?” he asked after a bit, pretty sure of the reaction he would get.
Sure enough, Ally turned to look at him. The guarded expression and crossed arms were gone, to be replaced by a thoughtful look and her fingers drumming in some unidentifiable pattern on the seat.
“Well, I’ll say they’re better than when Shavet was here, that’s for damn certain,” she snorted, naming her predecessor. “We’re still having tempo issues, but that just means I have to work my basses ass’s off. The quads are doing okay and same with us snares, but I swear to God if Collins changes something in the damn music one more time, I’m going to gut him. Right in front of all of those poor, innocent freshmen.” She smirked at the mental image that produced.
“Jeez, Parthenapolis, don’t hold back,” Ian laughed, shaking his head at her vehemence and promised violence.
Ally blushed slightly, then ducked her head o that her hair hid her face. “You asked,” she muttered.
“Yeah, I did,” Ian admitted, noting out of the corner of his eye that she was starting to pull back again. Damn. And they were almost to the school. “Collins is being a bastard about the drum break, isn’t he?”
Her head snapped back up, eyes narrowed as she hissed, “Fuck yes! Damnable man refuses to listen to me when I tell him that we can’t do something, expects us to move like were fucking rabbits in heat while playing at twice the speed of the rest of the band. And stay in step! I’ve got three sophomore’s on the line that barely know their right hand from their left, let alone their god damned feet. I dread the next drum practice we have where he barges in with ‘Oh, I’m just gonna come watch you guys for a bit, I got some more ideas...’ That, Murdoch, is the scariest phrase I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” Ally bared her teeth at Ian, daring him to contradict her.
Instead of the retort she thought she was going to get from him, he sighed ruefully and ran a hand through his hair. “I know. Would it be any comfort to you if I told you he’s being just as bad with the other sections?” Ian offered hopefully as he pulled into the school’s parking lot.
Ally eyed the drum major for a moment, noting the fatigue and exasperation that was in his tone and seeing the sincerity in his face.
“Maybe,” she said grudgingly. “You been getting bitched at by the other section leaders?”
“To say yes would be a very large understatement,” the drum major sighed. He pulled the truck into a spot close to the band room entrance before putting it into park and turning it off. He leaned back in his seat, leaning his head back against the seat with his eyes closed for just a moment of peace.
“Everyone seems to think that just because I’m the most senior of the drum majors that I know what that man is thinking. When, in reality, I’m probably the one that knows practically nothing. For whatever godforsaken reason, everyone thinks that I seem to posses the infinite ability to read Collins’s mind. It’s...”
He drifted off, suddenly realizing that he was ranting. He looked at Ally, who was watching him closely with her head slightly tipped to one side. One idle corner of his mind noted that she looked like his cat did when she was watching a particularly interesting bug. With that inquisitive tilt to her head, the unyielding yet gentle scrutiny of her eyes, and the thoughtful frown across her face Ally was an almost replica of the image. He just wanted to reach out and scratch her behind her ear, just to see what she’d do...
“Frustrating,” he finished lamely, as he violently strangled the urge. Dammit, this was the first time in weeks that he’d been able to get the prickly snare to talk to him civilly. He was not going to screw it up just because he was having this urge.
Ally considered the boy across from her. She always forgot that they were in the same year, since he always seem so much... More. Even though the other two drum majors were either the same year or a sophomore, it was always Ian that was the lead. But evidently it didn’t come as naturally to him as everyone thought. Herself included.
“Well, that’s understandable,” She said slowly, not wanting to say anything that could be taken wrong. She wasn’t that good with words, and was too careless with them most of the time. “I mean, your just a junior and Collins is always treating you like you’re a senior. I think, in a way, he probably thinks you can read his mind too.” She fell quiet, and just to make sure she didn’t say anything more, bit her tongue.
Ian relaxed when the girl didn’t blast at him with a usual harsh reply, and noticed her hesitation. Abruptly, he realized that she was trying to be tactful. Or, at least, as tactful as Ally could. Which wasn’t saying much, but at least she was trying.
He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a few loud thumps on the roof of his cab. They were quickly followed by a face appearing in the driver side window, an irritating smirk and twinkling blue eyes in an angular face that was topped with a mop of curly sandy-blond hair. A fist was raised and gently tapped on the window.
Ally’s head snapped to the window at the tap, then reality came crashing back to her. Gods, was she honestly sitting in Murdoch’s truck having a conversation that didn’t have her gritting her teeth?! Everything suddenly seemed so skewed and off balance that her head started spinning. She had to get out of here.
Ian rolled his eyes as he recognized the grinning idiot outside of is truck. He glanced over at Ally only to realize that she had the door open and was almost out of the truck. “Hey-“ he started, but she cut him off.
“Thanks for the ride,” she muttered, then shut the door. Before he could get out of the cab she’d grabbed her drum from the back and was gone. Bewildered at her abrupt departure, Ian got out of his truck rubbing the back of his head.
Alan whistled, catching Ian’s attention. “Skittish thing, isn’t she?” the sax player asked.
“Apparently,” Ian said absently, still watching Ally walk away