Nevermind [90s fic]

Chapter 22: Name Calling

December 1995
9:56pm - Danny's place

The old, worn couch sagged as Marilyn and Miles sat cross-legged on it, facing each other, their knees brushing as they played that dumb hand slap game—palms up, then down, then tap tap—swift and sharp. On the small, wooden coffee table beside them sat a half-full glass of a murky green-brown smoothie, thick as mud and smelling faintly like fermented tuna, mint, jalapeño, and something of dairy. Every time Marilyn caught his hands, Miles groaned and took a swig like a champ, gagging dramatically. She threw her head back laughing, shaking her long, dark hair out of her face, victory written all over her smirk. She couldn't believe how strong he started off, just to end up sucking so bad it was almost too suspicious.

"Come on, you're losing on purpose," she teased, flicking his forehead. 

Miles wiped his mouth and grinned, leaning back slightly. He shrugged and held her eyes with is for as long as possible. "Maybe I just have bad luck today. Maybe speed is your thing, not mine."

"Says the Flash on the basketball court!" Marilyn nearly shouted, her eyebrows bunching together. She smiled in amusement and pushed his shoulder lightly. "C'mon, give me a challenge."

Julian, half-melted into the recliner across from them, blinked slowly, the red light from the corner lava lamp warping across his glassy eyes. Some seconds passed. Then he emitted a soft, stoned chortle like it had just hit him how weird this whole thing was—even life itself. "You guys are so... man I don't even know," he mumbled, then giggled to himself again and stared at the ceiling. He hugged his bong to his chest and wondered if he'd overdo it by taking another hit.

In the kitchen, some deep voices filtered through, mixed with the clatter of dishes and the squelch of wet wings being devoured. Danny stood with one sock on, leaning against the dirty counter, licking buffalo sauce off his thumb while Toddy pulled a small bag from his denim jacket and dangled it like bait. 

"I'm telling you," Toddy said, voice low but eager, "we sell it half price, just this once. Everybody's happy, everybody's high, and The Dirty Dans are now super loved by more than just a crowd the size of a bathroom. I'm talking maybe even more than Nasty Cherry Pit's venue capacity. People love the drugs with the rock, man. It's simple math." 

Shane, leaning against the fridge with a toothpick in his mouth and a Marlboro behind his ear, bulging arms folded, smirked as his eyes flickered between Toddy and Danny. "We play five songs max. No one's sober enough to notice if we suck, and everyone's high enough to think we sound like Mudhoney." 

Danny hummed, mouth full and stained with ranch dipping sauce. "How many people are we thinking of inviting?"

"There's no limit. The boys are gonna be handing out flyers everywhere, Toddy's gonna give to his people, and I'm pretty sure all who are coming will bring plus ones," said Shane, stealing another wing.

"Can the skate warehouse even hold the number of people I'm thinking?" Danny continued to question, making sure to cover all his bases.

"Yeah. And if it extends out the door, fuck it, we'll set up the extra space. This is gonna be the gig of year, man, get excited!" Shane roughly slapped and grabbed his shoulder, rocking his body in the process.

"Why is the band called that? Did you guys name it after Danny?" Toddy asked Shane while his eyes were weirdly fixated on Miles and Marilyn giggling as they squeezed their hands together, trying to defeat the other over a strength game and who can overpower who.

Shane snorted as Danny was getting ready to answer, his head jerking back. "No?"

"Then what?"

"It just sounded cool. Been meaning to change it though."