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thulcandranI might have to do more with this 'verse. I'm somewhat intrigued by the idea. Thanks to Artell of the PPC for the prompt: "Odious, Microphone, Mongoose."
Charlie threw the T-shirt over his head and sat down, grabbing a comb off the dresser. She flipped the top off the gel, and finished the half-mohawk. A loud thump came from the other side of the room, and she grinned over her shoulder. "You know the rules, buddy. Gimme three hours; after the show, we can hang out."
"Hey! You 'bout ready?" She glanced up. Dover's head was poking through the gap in the door. "The Flaming Troubles of Paradise are almost through their set."
"Yeah, let's go." He nodded and headed out, and Charlie followed him, shutting the door carefully behind her. The dressing room was safe if undisturbed, but generally she did have to make sure it remained undisturbed.
The gig wasn't too bad - a little smaller than their usual, but the crowd was enthusiastic, and that made up for a lot. None of their microphones exploded (this time), and no idiots tried to rip her hair off. Dover and Tara were excellent, as ever, and the new song went over well; all in all, an excellent night. They left the circle to cheers, and after packing up, Dover threw an arm over both of them as they headed back down the hall.
"So," he said, his voice a little louder than usual (just as well - they probably wouldn't be able to hear him otherwise for another hour or so), "When're we gonna get that team of barely-dressed backup dancers we been talkin' about?"
Tara hit him on the shoulder, and he laughed. "Still a no? You're killin' me here!"
"C'mon, Dover. You'd just make Dina jealous, and we can't have that," Charlie told him, holding the dressing room door open. They headed through, and Dina chittered and scolded at all three of them from the top of the dresser.
Dover picked the little mongoose up and swung her around, crooning. She yapped back at him, and after a moment, he handed her off to Charlie. As usual, she scooted up onto the singer's head, snuggling into what she clearly considered a makeshift nest. Tara snerked and threw herself down onto the couch.
After a few minutes, Dover yawned. "So wha'd we make?"
"H'm?" Dina picked her head up and glanced at him, and after a moment, Charlie followed suit.
"We make anything? C'mon, we ain't doin' charity gigs, last I checked."
"We're s'posed to pick it up on our way out. And speakin' of, we'd better head out. I don't want to be in this town tomorrow morning."
Tara stood, and grabbed the pack of gear. "Let's make dust, then."
The office had a weird sort of vibe; uncomfortable, she thought. Odious. The whole place smelled a bit like some kind of fruit, too sweet, and a bit like sulfur and ozone. The man behind the desk was asleep, or - possibly and - stoned out of his mind. Tallish, wiry, soft features, with a gnarled mat of dark hair tied out of his face. Charlie rapped lightly on the oorframe.
The man stirred, groaned, and sat up. "You," he said wearily, unslurred. "What do you want?"
Dover, behind her, raised an eyebrow. "Payment," she told the man. "This is the main office, yeah? You're in charge?"
He stood up, stretching. "It is, I am. What do you want?"
There was a bit of movement behind her. Charlie took a deep breath. "I told you. Payment. What d'you have?"
The man narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. "Not much. Do you take solar?"
She shrugged. "Solar's fine, if it's what you got."
"It's what we got." He turned to the cabinet behind her. "Here. Some Solar, and there's a little Antaran - should make up the change." He handed her the fare: two octogonal tubes of black glass about two feet long, just about four inches across, rounded at the end, capped with bronze, and a smaller one, about the size of her wrist.
Charlie nodded, handed them off to Dover, who easily tucked all three under his arm. "Thanks," she told the man. He nodded half-heartedly back, shut the cabinet, and slumped back down in his chair, behind the desk. They trooped out of his office, Dina nibbling gently on her scalp as they left the building.
Back in the van, Tara stowed the capsules away. "We got enough Rigelian to get us down to Sartorville," she called. "But the Antaran's no good with the hydro or moto."
Dover plugged into the console and shrugged. "We got Solar, I don't care 'bout Antaran. Loose it, give Dina some fun."
"Sick," Charlie replied, pulling out the capsule. A half-twist from the overhead sealed it, and the sweet, reddish light spilled out, into the space of the rover. Dina let out a squeak of delight, and all three bandmates let out an almost involuntary sigh. There was nothing like fresh light to end the day on.
Charlie threw the T-shirt over his head and sat down, grabbing a comb off the dresser. She flipped the top off the gel, and finished the half-mohawk. A loud thump came from the other side of the room, and she grinned over her shoulder. "You know the rules, buddy. Gimme three hours; after the show, we can hang out."
"Hey! You 'bout ready?" She glanced up. Dover's head was poking through the gap in the door. "The Flaming Troubles of Paradise are almost through their set."
"Yeah, let's go." He nodded and headed out, and Charlie followed him, shutting the door carefully behind her. The dressing room was safe if undisturbed, but generally she did have to make sure it remained undisturbed.
The gig wasn't too bad - a little smaller than their usual, but the crowd was enthusiastic, and that made up for a lot. None of their microphones exploded (this time), and no idiots tried to rip her hair off. Dover and Tara were excellent, as ever, and the new song went over well; all in all, an excellent night. They left the circle to cheers, and after packing up, Dover threw an arm over both of them as they headed back down the hall.
"So," he said, his voice a little louder than usual (just as well - they probably wouldn't be able to hear him otherwise for another hour or so), "When're we gonna get that team of barely-dressed backup dancers we been talkin' about?"
Tara hit him on the shoulder, and he laughed. "Still a no? You're killin' me here!"
"C'mon, Dover. You'd just make Dina jealous, and we can't have that," Charlie told him, holding the dressing room door open. They headed through, and Dina chittered and scolded at all three of them from the top of the dresser.
Dover picked the little mongoose up and swung her around, crooning. She yapped back at him, and after a moment, he handed her off to Charlie. As usual, she scooted up onto the singer's head, snuggling into what she clearly considered a makeshift nest. Tara snerked and threw herself down onto the couch.
After a few minutes, Dover yawned. "So wha'd we make?"
"H'm?" Dina picked her head up and glanced at him, and after a moment, Charlie followed suit.
"We make anything? C'mon, we ain't doin' charity gigs, last I checked."
"We're s'posed to pick it up on our way out. And speakin' of, we'd better head out. I don't want to be in this town tomorrow morning."
Tara stood, and grabbed the pack of gear. "Let's make dust, then."
The office had a weird sort of vibe; uncomfortable, she thought. Odious. The whole place smelled a bit like some kind of fruit, too sweet, and a bit like sulfur and ozone. The man behind the desk was asleep, or - possibly and - stoned out of his mind. Tallish, wiry, soft features, with a gnarled mat of dark hair tied out of his face. Charlie rapped lightly on the oorframe.
The man stirred, groaned, and sat up. "You," he said wearily, unslurred. "What do you want?"
Dover, behind her, raised an eyebrow. "Payment," she told the man. "This is the main office, yeah? You're in charge?"
He stood up, stretching. "It is, I am. What do you want?"
There was a bit of movement behind her. Charlie took a deep breath. "I told you. Payment. What d'you have?"
The man narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. "Not much. Do you take solar?"
She shrugged. "Solar's fine, if it's what you got."
"It's what we got." He turned to the cabinet behind her. "Here. Some Solar, and there's a little Antaran - should make up the change." He handed her the fare: two octogonal tubes of black glass about two feet long, just about four inches across, rounded at the end, capped with bronze, and a smaller one, about the size of her wrist.
Charlie nodded, handed them off to Dover, who easily tucked all three under his arm. "Thanks," she told the man. He nodded half-heartedly back, shut the cabinet, and slumped back down in his chair, behind the desk. They trooped out of his office, Dina nibbling gently on her scalp as they left the building.
Back in the van, Tara stowed the capsules away. "We got enough Rigelian to get us down to Sartorville," she called. "But the Antaran's no good with the hydro or moto."
Dover plugged into the console and shrugged. "We got Solar, I don't care 'bout Antaran. Loose it, give Dina some fun."
"Sick," Charlie replied, pulling out the capsule. A half-twist from the overhead sealed it, and the sweet, reddish light spilled out, into the space of the rover. Dina let out a squeak of delight, and all three bandmates let out an almost involuntary sigh. There was nothing like fresh light to end the day on.