Book Two : Aveline. | Slash Fanfiction

chapter three

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THREE - 1992, Paris.

SAUL WASN'T ENIRELY sure what had happened, between discovering his newly favorite drink and ballroom dancing to Aerosmith with a small, green-haired, overly confident and talkative girl with a strange name and style, but he was certain that he felt some sort of enjoyment within it all.

"Listen, man," He slurred, having finished the entire bottle of whisky and squirted the cream in his mouth as a delicious chaser. "We've got another concert tonight." He stated, nodding his head and smiling crookedly. He was leaned against the doorframe of the humble abode, preparing for his departure.

Aveline nodded and grinned in amusement, her silence a motion for his continuance. "You should come along." He mumbled, scratching the back of his curls. The day had heated up with the blinding rays of sunshine and so Aveline had leant him a hair tie, securing his boisterous curls back in a bushy ponytail.

"I don't have the money, Saul." She laughed softly, shaking her head. He watched in awe as her locks lulled along with the action, now flowing across her shoulders. Saul felt slightly guilty for having stolen her source of hair-tamer, but decided he needed it just that little bit more and made nothing of it.

"I'll get you in for free." He assured. "Just be at my bus by seven, Sugar-tits." He winked, slowly stumbling away into the sinking sunlight.

Aveline frowned and called after him with a lightly louder voice, confusion within her tone. "I don't know where your bus is, genius." As though it had only just registered in his brain, he let out a short snort and turned back to the girl, nodding his head in agreement and withdrawing the receipt from his earlier purchases, scribbling down with his slurred and messy handwriting the address of his hotel.

"Call for me in the lobby." He ordered. "Be there by like... six, I guess." He shrugged, holding up a peace sign uncomfortably close to her nose before poking it with a soft giggle, shaking his head and spinning on his heel to disappear into the unfamiliar streets of this French place that he didn't know the routes of.

Saul could feel the familiar glisten of sweat trickling down his lower back and forehead, the droplets a warning of the warmth surrounding him, and he could feel the sticky level upon his skin beginning to rise. He knew it wasn't long before he'd begin to smell of sweat and cheap roses, but he didn't entirely mind. Smelling badly and having poor hygiene was a common issue in the world of a rock star, but they didn't care. There was no need to. As long as he still got laid and paid and the ability to play was still in his fingertips, there was no problem with how rarely he stepped into a shower.

He knew that Duff hadn't washed in weeks. From the grease in his acne, to the oil in his bleached knots and his body odor, he reeked of his bad habits and tendencies. Duff had gotten almost impossible to deal with, his growingly shortened temper consistently grasping the better of him, his alcoholic indulgences adding to his lanky frame in a large bloat. He wasn't fat - Saul didn't think Duff could ever grow to be fat with such height - but he wasn't as skinny as before, that was for sure.

And it saddened Saul to see such a drastically different ghost in the position of where one of his best friends used to stand, his drunken smile replaced with a violent scowl. Duff had officially replaced Steven in the incapability to quit sense, with his constant intoxicated state and substance abuse. Saul was surprised he wasn't dead. Then again, Saul was surprised they weren't all dead.

But, they all had the same thought process; live life like there's no tomorrow, 'cause you might never wake up.

He understood that this group was only the performing silhouette of what was the original 'Guns 'N' Roses' and he also understood that it would never quite be the same again - with Izzy finally sobering up and the friendships collapsing and Steven gone - but he couldn't accept it. He didn't want to believe that everything he'd worked for - everything he'd dreamed of - wasn't what it was cracked up to be. That the partying every night was getting old, that the booze all tasted the same on his accustomed tongue, that the drugs just didn't do it anymore, that he was too caught up in his love for performing to comprehend the broken seems of the band.