It's a tiny crowded bar just outside of city limits. The kind of bar that doesn't check ID's. Fuck, it's run by minors.
Yeah, it's some senior's barn. But that doesn't matter. A gig is a gig, or so says Trichto.
They arrive in black jackets, ripped blue skinny jeans, and faded band shirts. One is wearing glow-in-the-dark green skeleton gloves, two are wearing combat boots. The one in All Stars is /seriously/ regretting it. The ground outside the barn is muddy and full of god only knows, staining the new red sneakers.
They've got a couple of the kids who tried out bringing up their stuff. Anxiety is moderately sure they're the only kids who know much about this sort of thing, so she isn't surprised when nobody asks for an input list. And slightly relieved. Thixo and Trichto have no idea what that means.
The guitar has already been tuned and the only other thing that needs to be done is vocal shit, which Trichto is covering right now.
Anxiety hates this empty space between setting up and performing. It gives her time to mull over what she could possibly screw up. Thixo tentatively lays a hand on the tips of Anxiety's fingers, before jerking back, sweating and gasping for air.
"W-we'll be fine, A-Anxiet-Ty. Y-you Are a /good/ guitarist. Is that the word? Fuck, I don't know. B-but I do know, T-that you're good, Trichto's good, and I'm good. Good at what we do and b-besides it's not like it matters much. This is a barn full of drunk seniors from a different high school. They don't even kn-/know/ us. And as long as we don't, I dunno, hook up with some dude after the gig, nobody will. We'll just be the punk idiots who showed up to a hot party in black jackets."
"And played good music," Anxiety reminded, more optimistic than before.
"Yeah, and played good music."
A/N: So, this is my first story on this site, and acrually it's tw first time I've shared this one with anybody. Feel free to tell me if you liked it, and why you did or didn't. Thank you! :D
