EXTRA! EXTRA!
Challenge Name: Words
Title: EXTRA! EXTRA!
Rating: R, for language
Required words: Squeeze, unadorned, modulate, sniffer, devoutness.
Word Count (optional): 752
Author's comments (optional): I'm sorry for all the swearing! They made me do it! D:
“What time is it?”
“Half past,” Zach answered. His head rested on the top of the abused armchair, leaning back, his too-long black locks falling away from his face.
“Christ,” Brent grumbled.
For several long minutes they stayed as they were, watching the haze in the room throw haloes around the fluorescent and listening to the tune on the stereo modulate. It drifted in and out of keys as sluggishly as the heat and the humidity crept up the walls.
“How late is he going to be?” Brent twisted in his chair and scowled in the general direction of the door.
“What do you really hope to get done today?” Zach paused to take a long drag on his cigarette, the end smoldering sharp as his eyes in their side-slit glance. “Ell can’t come, so we won’t have a bassline.”
“What? Why?”
“Swine flu, remember?”
“Jesus Christ, him, too?” Brent sighed when his companion didn’t answer. “Ah well. Best he rests then, I suppose.”
“You’re only saying that to cover your own sorry ass,” Zack’s head moved slightly with an inner laugh. Smoke drifted from his nostrils, making him look a little like a dragon - or an incense burner.
“Yeah. Well. At least you carry the one, right?” Brent cracked a grin. “‘’Allo, London!’” he cried in mock-announcement. “‘We’re the Corners, and we’d like to play a show for you tonight! Zach, count us off!’”
Zach indicated a beat with one hand, index finger extended, to humor him.
“We playing London again?”
“Tom!” Brent barked in greeting as he turned. “You tosser, you’re late by half.”
“Three-quarters,” Zach corrected absently without looking at a clock.
“Yeah. Sorry boys, had a few things to take care of.” As he spoke he tore at the tie around his otherwise unadorned neck, and unbuttoned his shirt, leaving only a white tank and bare skin.
“Woah,” Brent responded suddenly. “Why the ol’ button-up, aye? ‘ave a date?”
Tom’s face fell. He dropped his messenger bag to the floor with a dull thud. For a moment the only sound in the room was the old Squeeze can it sent spinning off for a rendezvous with the bass drum.
“How did the interview go?” Zach broke the silence, the knowing tone in his voice taking on a venomous tinge in the heavy afternoon air.
“I…I’m sorry, mates.” Tom responded.
“You didn’t,” Brent said, dismayed.
Tom put his eyes in the corner of the room and left them there, refusing to meet Brent’s. Finally, he nodded. “I start on Monday.”
“Fuck me!” Brent cried promptly. He pounded his hand on the table, making the ash tray, the pencil filings, the guitar picks jump, the pen roll off the edge.
“You’re a bloody sniffer,” Zach said unperturbedly, smoke drifting from his slack lips as Brent rose to his feet to pace. Zach may even have been impressed, but, as per usual, the distinction was lost in the zen stoicism of his face.
“A bloody bugger is what you are,” Brent interjected.
“Hey,” Tom began uncomfortably.
“A sniffer,” Brent repeated as though it were a curse. “Paparazzi, word-slinger! You were our idol, man! Our frontman!”
“Your devoutness with the English language is impressive, but can’t you even defend yourself?” Zach responded without feeling after a pause.
“I shouldn’t have to!” Tom burst out suddenly. “Listen, I tried, lord, I bloody tried to keep this up, but I can’t! Not here, not in this city, not even with a roommate to help pay the bills. It just can’t be done. Now I can try and make time for this. But I have to go,” he scooped his bag back up. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” He turned on a penny and left the way he’d come.
Brent kicked a stool and sent it the way of the Squeeze can.
“Watch the drum kit,” Zach said mildly, taking another drag.
Brent made a frustrated sound and buried himself back in his armchair. “This is shot to hell, mate. I can’t bleedin’ believe this. What are we going to do without a buggered-”
“He’ll be back,” Zach interrupted nonchalantly, as always.
“What?”
Zach gave Brent a look over his shoulder as he stood, an arched eyebrow on a skeptical canvas. “He’s got the poetry in his soul. He’ll be back.” He buried his hands deep in his pockets and bent. As he lifted the door to the garage stark daylight streamed in, and he was gone in a silhouette and smoke.
Title: EXTRA! EXTRA!
Rating: R, for language
Required words: Squeeze, unadorned, modulate, sniffer, devoutness.
Word Count (optional): 752
Author's comments (optional): I'm sorry for all the swearing! They made me do it! D:
“What time is it?”
“Half past,” Zach answered. His head rested on the top of the abused armchair, leaning back, his too-long black locks falling away from his face.
“Christ,” Brent grumbled.
For several long minutes they stayed as they were, watching the haze in the room throw haloes around the fluorescent and listening to the tune on the stereo modulate. It drifted in and out of keys as sluggishly as the heat and the humidity crept up the walls.
“How late is he going to be?” Brent twisted in his chair and scowled in the general direction of the door.
“What do you really hope to get done today?” Zach paused to take a long drag on his cigarette, the end smoldering sharp as his eyes in their side-slit glance. “Ell can’t come, so we won’t have a bassline.”
“What? Why?”
“Swine flu, remember?”
“Jesus Christ, him, too?” Brent sighed when his companion didn’t answer. “Ah well. Best he rests then, I suppose.”
“You’re only saying that to cover your own sorry ass,” Zack’s head moved slightly with an inner laugh. Smoke drifted from his nostrils, making him look a little like a dragon - or an incense burner.
“Yeah. Well. At least you carry the one, right?” Brent cracked a grin. “‘’Allo, London!’” he cried in mock-announcement. “‘We’re the Corners, and we’d like to play a show for you tonight! Zach, count us off!’”
Zach indicated a beat with one hand, index finger extended, to humor him.
“We playing London again?”
“Tom!” Brent barked in greeting as he turned. “You tosser, you’re late by half.”
“Three-quarters,” Zach corrected absently without looking at a clock.
“Yeah. Sorry boys, had a few things to take care of.” As he spoke he tore at the tie around his otherwise unadorned neck, and unbuttoned his shirt, leaving only a white tank and bare skin.
“Woah,” Brent responded suddenly. “Why the ol’ button-up, aye? ‘ave a date?”
Tom’s face fell. He dropped his messenger bag to the floor with a dull thud. For a moment the only sound in the room was the old Squeeze can it sent spinning off for a rendezvous with the bass drum.
“How did the interview go?” Zach broke the silence, the knowing tone in his voice taking on a venomous tinge in the heavy afternoon air.
“I…I’m sorry, mates.” Tom responded.
“You didn’t,” Brent said, dismayed.
Tom put his eyes in the corner of the room and left them there, refusing to meet Brent’s. Finally, he nodded. “I start on Monday.”
“Fuck me!” Brent cried promptly. He pounded his hand on the table, making the ash tray, the pencil filings, the guitar picks jump, the pen roll off the edge.
“You’re a bloody sniffer,” Zach said unperturbedly, smoke drifting from his slack lips as Brent rose to his feet to pace. Zach may even have been impressed, but, as per usual, the distinction was lost in the zen stoicism of his face.
“A bloody bugger is what you are,” Brent interjected.
“Hey,” Tom began uncomfortably.
“A sniffer,” Brent repeated as though it were a curse. “Paparazzi, word-slinger! You were our idol, man! Our frontman!”
“Your devoutness with the English language is impressive, but can’t you even defend yourself?” Zach responded without feeling after a pause.
“I shouldn’t have to!” Tom burst out suddenly. “Listen, I tried, lord, I bloody tried to keep this up, but I can’t! Not here, not in this city, not even with a roommate to help pay the bills. It just can’t be done. Now I can try and make time for this. But I have to go,” he scooped his bag back up. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” He turned on a penny and left the way he’d come.
Brent kicked a stool and sent it the way of the Squeeze can.
“Watch the drum kit,” Zach said mildly, taking another drag.
Brent made a frustrated sound and buried himself back in his armchair. “This is shot to hell, mate. I can’t bleedin’ believe this. What are we going to do without a buggered-”
“He’ll be back,” Zach interrupted nonchalantly, as always.
“What?”
Zach gave Brent a look over his shoulder as he stood, an arched eyebrow on a skeptical canvas. “He’s got the poetry in his soul. He’ll be back.” He buried his hands deep in his pockets and bent. As he lifted the door to the garage stark daylight streamed in, and he was gone in a silhouette and smoke.