and the stars will all come out

chapter three! ☆

"TO SEE, TO BLEED..."

Landry bit down hard on her lip as she struggled to keep up with the bassline of the song: her fingers were pressed down on the strings as hard as they could be, to the point of drawing blood, she just couldn't seem to move them fast enough.

"Cannot be taught...in turn you're making us..."

Raucous guitars. Bashing drums. Evelyn's cigarette-strained voice.

"Fucking hostile!"

The cheap drywall of the basement seemed to quiver with the force of her ugly screams as the band stumbled into the second verse, and Landry couldn't resist glancing at the drummer behind her. It was impossible to tell with the fast-moving nature of drumming, but she could've sworn she winced at the noise too.

They thundered on as best they could, but like always, Landry's mind started drifting away again.

You believe there's something else

To relieve your emptiness

And you dream about yourself

And you bleed and breathe the air

And it's on and on

And on and on and on

This time, she bit her lip in an effort to keep herself from smiling. While she was playing, the words reverberating in her brain seemed to come easier than ever - like a poem, or a song. Slower than anything off of Vulgar Display of Power. She could hear the ghost of a guitar that was electric in the air, echoing around her brain until it became intoxicating.

You believe there's somewhere else

Where it's easier than this

And you see outside yourself...

"Stop, stop!" Evelyn screamed, and the Pantera song screeched to a halt.

Landry looked up and the reverie broke instantly.

Oh shit.

☆

NATE WOKE UP TO THE SOUND OF SIZZLING SCRAMBLED EGGS.

"Our first breakfast in Virginia!" Taylor called out cheerily, from downstairs in the kitchen. "Nate, you awake?"

Groaning, Nate tossed his blankets to the side.

"Yeah, and I'm also a vegan," he called back.

Taylor laughed. "I know, that's why Dave bought those weird ass vegan eggs for you."

When Nate finally gathered the courage to get up from bed and walk downstairs into the kitchen, Dave and Taylor were there, both fully-dressed: Dave keeping a watchful eye on the eggs sizzling in the pan, and Taylor fiddling with the ancient radio on the kitchen counter, which was currently blasting a report about today's weather.

"I got groceries the first thing this morning," Dave informed him, twirling the spatula. "We need to start talking about what we're gonna do in Virginia."

"This early?" Nate responded blearily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "I don't think we have to worry just yet."

"Well, I'd like to make this place into a studio as fast as possible," he replied back. "I started calling people when we agreed to come here in the first place, I bet we have enough room in the basement."

That was true: when the Foo Fighters had made it back to Nate's basement that fateful day, Dave had locked himself in the bathroom with both the landline phone and a napkin with all notable people he could think of written on it, and had quickly gotten to work calling and leaving voicemails.