and the stars will all come out

chapter four! ☆

HE FOUND HER AT THE EXACT MOMENT SHE'D DOWNED A VODKA SHOT: wincing, her face scrunched in pain, she slammed the empty shot down on the bar, looked up, saw him, and choked.

"H-hey," Landry Clarke greeted him with a wheeze, clutching her chest, evidently trying to catch her breath. "I - oh, God, this isn't how I wanted you to find me."

"It's fine," Dave said with a little laugh, and he could tell she immediately relaxed, the relief that he wasn't awkward in return flooding through her. "How was soundcheck?"

She smiled, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of her dress: she'd chosen a striped dress the palest shade of blue, a casually beautiful dress but a bit of an odd choice for the severity of a Pantera cover band. Nonetheless, she looked innocent and radiant, and she was probably the most gorgeous woman in the place.

"Uh, it was definitely a soundcheck. I like your shirt."

"Thanks. Thought it was right for the occasion. You look great."

"Thanks."

An awkward silence befell them, and Dave took an opportunity to order his own drink.

"​​Jagermeister?" Landry commented quizzically. "Wow."

The awkwardness of the conversation was utterly killing him.

Dude, you are not about to get stuck between the handshake and the fuck.

He smiled gently at her. "You ever try it?"

She made a face, which told him everything he needed to know.

As he desperately fumbled around for something to say, he tried not to think about the completely unprompted advice Taylor had given him ("Remember, girls like it short and sweet on the first date!") or the handful of condoms he'd forced him to take before he could step out of the door.

That's not you. Don't think about any of it. Just breathe. Keep it cool. 

"So-" he started, but the doors to the lounge were flung open at the wrong moment, making them both flinch.

"Landry!" someone shouted, and both of them whipped around.

A woman was quickly approaching them, her face pinched in frustration, a cigarette burning between her fingers despite the no smoking sign Dave had passed on his way in. She looked pissed, and disregarded Dave completely as she stomped in front of Landry.

"Where the fuck were you? We've been looking for you ever since soundcheck!"

"I-" Landry spluttered, a flush creeping up her neck as she jabbed a thumb at Dave. "I -  uh - I was with him."

"Hi," the smoking woman told him, pinning him with a glare. She appeared to not recognize him for who he was, which was at least a relief. "Just so you know, you're dating a fucking idiot. C'mon."

With that, she grabbed Landry by the elbow and pulled her into the hallway, making Dave's eyes widen in alarm. He briefly caught a snippet of argument, but a door in the hallway had swung open and closed before he could figure out what was going on.

The girl who sings is an evil bitch, he remembered her telling him suddenly, but goddamn, he wasn't expecting her to be so mask off the first time he saw her.

It was disturbing.

☆

AND LANDRY WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE OTHER THING, TOO: SHE COULDN'T EVEN SING.

After forty-five minutes of wrestling his face into neutrality, forcing himself not to cringe as the singer stumbled through verses and choruses and piercing-in-all-the-wrong-ways screams, it was over. The singer threw up the metal horns, victorious, turning away from the mic, and the drummer mashed on the kit for one last time, determined to end on a raucous bang.