✭ 𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓭 𝓗𝓸𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓼 ✭ steel ball run

✭ Firestarter ✭

-

    From outside the studio door, the sound of "Creamstarter'' practicing was clear as day. From the beginning of a song, then an immediate argument ensues after someone makes an honest mistake. This behavior was nothing new for the band. A few measures would be played, some drumsticks would be thrown, yet somehow on stage they seemed to complete each other.

    Taking out his key, Gyro chuckled at the familiarity of it all and then let himself in.

    "I swear, if you fuck this up for us, If you can't get your shit together, We'll find a better guitarist."

    "Uh, huh, and who on God's green earth would want to work with y'all?"

    "Go fuck yourself, Tim."

    "Y'know what? I've just about had it with you."

    Peering around the room, Gyro spotted the pink-haired bassist and shot her a smile. His odd, golden grills contrasted against the dark green lipstick he wore. Hotpants had an odd way with people. For someone to understand what emotion she was trying to convey, they would've had to know her pretty well. And right now, she was advising Gyro to stay out of whatever argument the other two bandmates had gotten into. Her pink hair was chopped into a blunt bob with stiff, harsh layers that framed her face. The style was very "high fashion" in a sense, but it perfectly conveyed her blunt and standoffish nature. He nodded his head with another small laugh before starting to set up his own equipment.

    The name "Creamstarter" was HotPant's idea. In fact, so was the entire band. She and Gyro met during a nursing class they both shared. Being the only two Italian students taking the course at the time, it was easy for them to find some common ground. After some small talk and some shared assignments, the two started bonding over music and decided to put together a small band. In perfect fashion, Diego caught word of the band and inserted himself the moment he knew they were looking for a drummer. Diego had his own career laid out before him anyway, working as a soloist and bouncing between bands and duets for some time, but something about Creamstarter made him feel like he belonged. Unfortunately, though, his demanding and harsh personality has driven off quite a few of their additional bandmates. It didn't take long for the band to begin setting up gigs in local restaurants and at small city festivals. From there, and thanks to Diego's connections, the change was instant. Gyro and HotPants both decided to drop out of school to follow the opportunity, and as for Diego, he had it made either way.

    "How long have they been going at it?" Gyro asked.

    "To damn long." She sighed, already having gone back to plucking around on her bass.

    The studio, if it could be called that, was a small studio apartment that Diego had repurposed into a musical workshop some time ago. With his connections in the music industry and the wealth he inherited from his parents, Diego had fitted the room with state-of-the art equipment. Only the finest amps, speakers, microphones—you name it. It wasn't clear to Gyro if Diego really cared that much about the equipment or if it was all just some roundabout way of showing off to HotPants. Either way, it was good for the band, and there wasn't anything to complain about.

    "Get it together." Diego said through gritted teeth before taking a seat back at his drum set, tapping his leg impatiently. The rest of the band followed suit, preparing to take another shot at the song they were currently working on. After a count-off, the band made it only a few measures farther before another outburst and high-speed drumstick.

    "You're doing this shit on purpose!"

    "What do you mean?"

    "Are you fucking with me? Or are you just that bad?"

    That was the final straw. Tim stood up and looked down towards Diego.

    Tim, better known as Mountain Tim, was nicknamed that for a good reason. He was tall and built as hell. He was the last person anyone would want to fuck around and find out with. And unluckily, Diego didn't seem to have any sort of filter.

    "Bad?"

    "Uh, huh, I said I think you play like shit."

     Tim clicked his tongue and set his guitar back down into its case. Anyone could read it on his face—just how angry he was. It made him even more angry that he couldn't fight back too hard or any connections he had through Diego would be severed. He walked toward the door.

    "Just like that? All it took to make you leave was some criticism."

    "Find a new guitarist; I quit."

    Before either of the other band members could step in, Mountain Tim had made his way out the door and was gone. Aside from the hum of electronic instruments plugged into amps and the agitated grumbling from under Diego's breath, a deafening silence washed over the room. Surprisingly enough, it was HotPants who decided to break it.

    "He lasted longer than the others, but you overdid it, Diego."

    "He just can't take criticism. What? You wanna walk out on this too? Stand with him? Tim's a fucking pussy."

    HotPants shook her head before sliding the bass guitar strap back off her shoulders.

    "Wait. Are you really leaving too now?" His voice lowered.

    "What? You expect us to get any real practice down without a lead guitarist?" She had a fair point. Without a lead guitarist, they wouldn't be able to tour next month. Ergo—no need to practice at all. "Unless you were serious. Do you really think you could find a better guitarist? In such short notice?"

    That struck a nerve with Diego. He audibly groaned, slumping in his seat, and looked down at the single drumstick left in his hands. While he did know a better guitarist, it was the recruiting process that Diego didn't want to go through. Saying that he 'could' find a better guitarist was true, but it was meant to be an empty threat. Now it was looking like he had no other choice.

    "I know, a guitarist." He hissed.

    "Then call them." This time, it was Gyro who spoke up. "Worst-case scenario: they tell you to fuck on off and we keep looking. If we can't find a replacement, though, I'm not taking the fall. You'll tell Steel yourself."

    The tour manager, Steel, was a strange man. He had a way about him that the members of Creamstarter had trouble figuring out. He was a damn good tour manager, but he had put up with far too much of their bullshit already. Diego stood up, walking over to the couch to grab his phone, fanning a hand towards Gyro in a weak way of saying, "Yeah, yeah, I'll handle it." Flipping through his contacts, Diego eventually held the phone up to his ear. After one ring, the call hung up. 

    "Motherfucker." He mumbled, "Declined my call," tapping through again and putting the phone back to his ear. HotPants and Gyro exchanged a subtle but worried look. Then, after another declined call, there was finally an answer on the third try.

    "Whaddya want?" groaned an agitated southern voice from the other side of the line.

    "Hey Johnny, I'm cashing in a favor."