how soon is now? || w. a rose [i/v]

ERIC I

Gleeful Geffen!

A back to back win for Geffen Records top groups after Guns N Roses swept an AMA's win for 'Best Metal Group' and nomination for 'Best Metal Album' for the multi platinum debut of 'Appetite for Destruction' and Mind the Gap's stunning sold out Coliseum show. Both groups are seemingly on the up with new albums in the works after bassist Duff Mckagan and drummer Eric Henderson were seen going to an LA studio last week.

This all comes after the announcement of singers Axl Rose and Andy Bernow's engagement in early January, it seems that Geffen is on the up!

/ RIP magazine, February 1990

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w. discussions of prison life, reference to drug use, period typical homophobia, AIDS

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It was raining.

Not the torrential downpours that soaked through clothes down to the bone, the heavy splatters that stained the pavement black. More like the silent droplets of drizzle that just slightly dampened outer jackets and chilled uncovered hands, turning fingers white and cracking the skin.

So overall, a regular London February. It was colder than LA but it wasn't as cold as years past, or even what December had been, there was no snow or even sleet to be found. The winter of 86' that rolled over in 87' had been a freezing one, where it was still freezing even with all the windows closed and under the blankets, or perhaps that had just been him.

Eric scuffed each crack on the path with the toe of his boot, pushing down on any dead leaves and branches that had long since fallen down onto the concrete. The laces dragged on the floor, collecting mud, dirt and whatever else would be collected on a South-East London street. He could only ever be bothered to knot them once in the morning, never taking Andy's effort of triple knotting each one and tucking in the ends, it made it too difficult to kick them off at the end of the day, getting stuck around his heel and then brute forcing them off.

He dragged his eyes upwards to meet the sky, feeling no warmth from sun rays, just the dank, misty air that only a drab, grey sky could bestow on him. He just pushed his pink hands into his pockets and scowled, stupid London, stupid weather. He'd much preferred the arid desert of Las Vegas six months ago, when his cheeks were pink for a different reason, flaky skin under the scorching heat and Andy rolling her eyes.

Though one of the two bottles of sunscreen she had bought him had disappeared from his room when she visited one night. He had a feeling he knew who had received that. Rose's arm had been a vicious, angry red, nearly the shade of his hair, when he'd first met him in the studio.

Half a year ago. Where had all that gone? They'd released Hooliganism ten months ago, ten months and five days to be exact.

He'd moved from that run down house share filled with lazy, anti-social history students who never paid the rent on time and let the bills pile up, all the way to the centre of London. Into a flat with white walls and french doors, leather sofas and real wooden floors, no beer stains in sight. It wasn't as fancy as Andy's, he'd been in there and had stepped back at the ornate doors and double height ceiling, and it wasn't even as sleek and modern as Yoko's place near the Thames, but it was his.

No sharing, no nothing. No having to trip over someone's misplaced trainer at five am when he wanted a glass of water, no walking in on an absolute fucking stranger using the one bathroom before muttering a "my bad" and no more having to yell at half asleep arses that the fucking rent was due.