𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨

ain't the stones yet

chapter twenty
"ain't the stones yet"

I met Otto Davies for the first time at the Villa. He arrived with Grant after a long plane ride, which we heard about both in English and German. He stepped up to the Villa, hair long, brown flares, and with a Hungarian-style embroidered blouse. If he was at all shy about not speaking a lick of English, he didn't show it, and there was no part of him that wasn't beautiful.

He had already landed a modelling contract in America, thanks to Turner's connections, and at only fifteen, he was nearly Turner's height and with a jawline to cut glass. Still, his debonair demeanour was dropped quickly when he threw down his duffel bag and ran to his brother, squealing girlishly and proceeding to wrestle with him the way brothers do.

"This is Otto," Turner introduced, one hand on the boy's shoulder, once they finally came to some sort of peaceful agreement, "He speaks no English."

We all waved, and Turner introduced us ("Das sind Selene, Jamey, Melody, Nicky, Darrell, Peter, Eileen, Cooper und Buddy!"). Otto smiled dazzlingly, "Hallo! Ich bin sehr dankbar, hier zu sein."

"He is very grateful to be here," Turner translated, then sighed, as if very tired, "This will get old fast."

With Otto, a little bit of reality came in the form of Grant. His first greeting was to skip the hello's and slap down a newspaper for us to read, all compiled with various headlines:

The Dead Flowers Uprooted; Band Gone Missing?

Rockstars Plant Themselves in Paradise

The Dead Flowers; Digging Their Roots, or Their Graves?

"Jesus Christ," Darrell groaned, "I would be happy to never hear a plant pun my whole life."

"That's not the point," Grant grumbled, regarding the guitarist the same way he had always done. He knew- because he was probably the same way- that Darrell, though not an angry man, had been on a short fuse since people started treating him like he was fragile, "The point is y'all got the press in the palm of your hands and you're hiding out in France. You ain't the Stones yet."

"We're not hiding!" Cooper snapped, indignantly.

"We're resting," Molly clarified, sitting in his lap and already noticeably giggly, looking at her uncle with puppy dog eyes, "While Darrell recovers."

The guitarist glared, but the ever-bright Molly seemed not to notice it.

"Get writing, is all I'm sayin'. I don't care if Darrell can't walk, he's still got a brain-"

"Holy fuck!" Darrell threw his hands up, "I'm not a child, stop talking about me as if I am one! Just because I'm a little banged up doesn't mean you can all pity me. I'm not crippled, stop treating me like a baby!"

Darrell had never, ever raised his voice before, and for many of us, that was the most he had ever talked. Groaning at the lack of response, he did his best to walk away, though his legs were weak and it wasn't long before he stumbled. Right into Nicky's arms, of course, who merely brushed his hair away from his eyes and whispered into his ear something the rest of us weren't meant to hear.

NICKY: Broke my bloody heart, it did. Any outburst felt incredibly justified.

DARRELL: Maybe I was acting a bit like a baby, but I was being treated like one, so it only made sense. Besides, mind and body at war causes you to be a bit short-tempered, y'know.