NationStates Jolt Archive

((OOC: Here's how it works. We get people to sign up to be different members of the band. We also need a manager, and a company to produce their stuff. Then we RP the tours, club appearances, etc. This is where it gets good, and all of the drugs, sex, and rock and roll aspects come in. We need fans, groupies, and generally all of the craziness that usually surrounds rock stars. It should be pretty good if enough people get in on it. This starts in 1986.))

Band Name: El Grande Tank

Guitar: Tommy Isadore

Guitar: Maxwell Correllian

Guitar: Nathan Halycon

Bass: Iain Matteotti

Harmonica: Verdanand Streif

Keyboard:

Drums: Richard 'Rico' DeVito

Frontman (Lead Vocals): Murdock Domenta

Manager: Georgi Stenfi

Producer: David 'Beard' Hopjohn

((OOC: The Manager Georgi Stenfi is here! I like to be the boss :D))

((OOC: The Manager Georgi Stenfi is here! I like to be the boss :D))

((OOC: Excellent. That's one down.))

what, no lead vocalist? or singer... whatever you want to call it... ah well, if not that, Maxwell Correllian is a guitarist!!!!!

what, no lead vocalist? or singer... whatever you want to call it... ah well, if not that, Maxwell Correllian is a guitarist!!!!!

We don't have a frontman yet. Max is our new guitarist.

OOC: Heh, I like this. I'll sign up as the bassist, if that's ok. Name... Iain Matteotti.

OK, sound's cool.

Name: Richard "Rico" DeVito

I'll take the drums. I'll be the frustrated one, always in the background but yearning for the spotlight.

Murdock Domenta

Lead Vocals

Coool...2 bassists. Now THAT is an original band!

no actually I already saw the guy sign up for bassist so I changed :p

Bass already taken: DAMN!

I'll be your first roadie: Paul Sheperd

Any suggestions for band names?

"The Hellboys"
"Fearsome"
"Red Eye"
"The Dark Prophets"
"The F.U.C. Konspiracy"

or

"Strife"
"El Grande Tanke"
"The Tank"

Howabout "Generic Empire"?? ;-)

lol :p

Ace, I'll be a drummer!

Gawdly signed up for drummer, but I am sure if Generic Empire is kind enough we can afford an extra guitarist

LoL okay.

I shall send Verdanand Streif to sing but if thats already taken can theyre be keyboard or Harmonica?

Yeah I already signed up to sing

or

"Strife"
"El Grande Tanke"
"The Tank"

I like 'El Grande Tank'. It seems most condusive to hilarity.

I shall send Verdanand Streif to sing but if thats already taken can theyre be keyboard or Harmonica?

Definately harmonica. I forgot that. Every band needs a mean harmonica player.

Gawdly signed up for drummer, but I am sure if Generic Empire is kind enough we can afford an extra guitarist

Three guitarists! Inconcievable! I like it! OHM II-guitar numero 3.

So verdanand Streif will be harmonica, awesome. He could also back up sing.

I like 'El Grande Tank'. It seems most condusive to hilarity.
lol yeah when me a few freinds were thinking of a name for our band that was my idea, we didn't go with it though, but if you want go right ahead

For me, I'll be Slash. I'll have long black hair, hazel eyes, I'll be (I obviously will have abs), and for my trademark, I'll be wearing a real Katana in a holster on my back.

Make it happen Generic!

I'll be the guy Who owns the record company :cool:

David "Beard" Hopjohn

Oh yeh, my character's real name is Nathan Halycon (the same as the boarding skool RP Techon is doing).

I like 'El Grande Tank'. It seems most condusive to hilarity.

Since you're Guys work For me Now I'll be naming your band Spinal Tap :p
J/K

For me, I'll be Slash. I'll have long black hair, hazel eyes, I'll be (I obviously will have abs), and for my trademark, I'll be wearing a real Katana in a holster on my back.

Make it happen Generic!

The katana is quite Slash-like. Excellent. But we must hope your axe skills are just as amazing.

Perfect. We've got Slash and Izzy on guitars, a rockin' frontman, a drummer, a bassist, a manager, and a producer. I think we also have a roadie.

we're ready to go! alright!

Ooh ooh I want in can I be keyboard?

Every band needs a keyboardist... aw, can we keep him, please?

Ok for the keyboardist, as long as he doesn't have a "Flock of Seagulls" haircut...

Ok for the keyboardist, as long as he doesn't have a "Flock of Seagulls" haircut...

Alright, Endoa on keybaoards, no flock of seagulls haircut. Gotcha.

*Waits patiently for groupies*

((OOC: All right, I suppose we shall begin.))

(Rolling Stone Magazine)

"'El Grande Tank rockets to Success!'"

"The local L.A. Club Act, 'El Grande Tank' has found success in the form of a metallic, blues drenched cover of AC/DC's It's a Long Way To The Top. Made up of guitarists Tommy Isadore and Nathan Halycon, and led by mesmerizing frontman Murdoch Domenta (formerly of 'Fearsome') the band captivates audiences with incredible stage presence, and a pure rock and roll sound... "


Tommy Isadore ripped out the article, folded it and put it in his pocket. He was clad in leather pants, a black leather jacket, and a Rolling Stones T-shirt. His hair fell over his shoulders, kept off of his face by a headband, and a pair of sunglasses.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and removed the last one. Placing it between his lips, he removed a lighter, and flicked it. He exhaled, the cloud of smoke wreathing above his head. Fame and fortune were going to feel pretty good.

Murdock couldn't find the pickles in the fridge, he frantically pushed everything aside, searching for them. He pushed the yogurt out of the way with a slightly tanned hand.
"Ah ha!" He exclaimed as he pulled them out.
He was dressed in a simple green Tommy Hillfiger shirt, and baggy dark khakis. He walked away from the fridge, and sat down on the chair, munching down on the pickles, he was extremely good looking, and had his brown hair jelled straight up, he looked around, at every single one of his band members.

"Goddammit!"

The yell of frustration was quickly followed by the sound of smashing glass. More cursing followed, some of it extremely colorful and biologically impossible. More crashing was heard, followed by a sudden silence. Rico Devito sat in the middle of what was left of his room, the results of his anger littered around him. Taking a long draw from a 40-ouncer of Jack Daniels, Rico once again brought his eyes to rest on the article in Rolling Stone...another bloody interview, another time that they diss the drummer.

"Not f*ckin' once! Where the f*ck is MY NAME!" Rico threw the magazine in the corner, knocking over the lamp. He drank steadily from his bottle, the dark alcohol burning a trail of heat right towards his anger. He stood up slowly, and approached the full length mirror on the door of his closet. He looked at himself, a young man, a muscular, good-looking young man...always hidden behind the anonymity of his drum kit.

"I deserve to be famous too..." he whispered quietly to himself.

Streif looked at Devito and sayed "Well at least in the article they mentioned my harmonica Solo". Streif was wearing a leather jacket and black pants. He had long brown and a white bandana.

An hour later Streif walks into a room where he sees all the other band members and takes a chair and he sits down. "Alright guys heres what I think" he says with his british acent " I think we should start playing psychedalic rock, you know how Jimi did it. Of course we should still play some blues. I could even do some backup vocals. Soon we may end up bigger then F**cking God. So what do you guys think of my splendid idea. Oh and for later I have a suprise".

Tommy Isadore took a pull on his cigarette.

"We need to stick to our roots, man. People want to hear hard rock, not psychedelia. Don't get me wrong, Jimi is a God, but we have to stay with what works. Look at what happened with It's a Long Way to the Top. If we keep it up, we can be huge."

((OOC: It started?!))

Georgi, a fat white Russian man entered have a copy of the latest Rolling Stone magazine. Of course he had that damn accent. And yes he broke down the damn door too.

"You guys are a hit! A hit! You need to keep doing what you're doing. I got you a gig too."

He took out a piece of paper.

"Best club in town, the Red Fire Club. That's where the best come. You can't pass this damn it!"

Tommy Isadore took a pull on his cigarette.

"We need to stick to our roots, man. People want to hear hard rock, not psychedelia. Don't get me wrong, Jimi is a God, but we have to stay with what works. Look at what happened with It's a Long Way to the Top. If we keep it up, we can be huge."
"Hard rock?" Murdock asked from his seat. "Some may want to hear hard rock, but I think we should play all kinds of rock, except...psychadelic rock. Punk Rock, Hard Rock 80's Rock, so forth and so on, appease everyone, appeasing means that more people will listen and more people will like us. I am in this not for the money remember that, if I wanted money I would have stayed with my old band, but, since thats what you want Streif, this will get us big bucks also."

aw...man...you guys already started. I wanted to be the percussionist...you know...I play everything from congas, to even a second drum set. PLease....let me join. :D

Rico walked into the common room, joining his band mates...he could not call them "friends", not really. His only real friend in the band was Murdock Domenta, his longtime collaborator. They had worked together on many different projects, and as Murdock outgrew his bandmates, he would take Rico with him. In band PR pictures, Rico was always on Murdocks right side, slightly behind him.

They were arguing yet again, about musical direction, and the different genres that people wanted, or believed were best for the band. Rico patted his shirt, pulling out a small, silver cigarette case. Withdrawing a well rolled joint from the case, Rico lit his Zippo with a flick of the wrist. Puffing gently on his reefer, the big drummer shook his head, the bittersweet smoke of his toke trickling from his nose.

"Y'all got it wrong, boyo's: we got to make our OWN sound. Something beyond metal, beyond rock, beyond labels, beyond limits. We need to make music that will define a new sound, and set us apart." Rico took another few tokes, then offered it to Murdock.

"*pffft* ...and we need to get laid. Georgi, when is this gig at the Red Fire Club? I'm up for groping a groupie..."

" Good news, chap. Well, anyways I think we should choose some songs for our performance. Here's what I'm sugesting:

The Loner by Neil Young

Spanish Castle Magic by Jimi Hendrix

Thunderstruck by AC/DC

Magic Carpet ride by Stepenwolf

Sweet child of mine- Guns and Roses

Back in the USSR by the beatles

Bring it on home by Led Zeppelin.


Then for the final we could right a song and blow the audience away. I think as a band we should all discuss this. But I think its time for my suprise to you all"

Streif walks into his bedroom with the rest of the band following. There in the room are hot women. "Well I guess they liked the performance. Take your pick guys." There was one for each member of the band." awesome, isnt it" Streif says with his british acent " You see her" he points to a beatiful blonde women " her name is Jennifer. Ill have her. The rest of you, take your pick.Hard choise isnt it? ". Streif smiles while he takes a cigarette out of his pocket, lights it and starts smoking.

"Great," Murdock said as he stood there looking at them. "Whores who come here just so they can say they slept with someone rich and famous."
He turned around and walked out of the room, stopping beside his freind; Rico.
"Do what you will, but if you want my advice, back away," He said before walking off again.

Rico was buzzing, and smiling at the faceless women. He didn't mind easy women, as long as he earned them. When Rico hit the stage, he hit it with passion, and the spectacle he put on every night made him one of the most respected yet unknown drummers in the industry. After 2 hours of beating on the skins, Rico earned his groupie. This...well, this was TOO easy. When Murdock stalked out of the room, Rico grabbed his leather jacket and followed him.

"Heya Doc, wait up man..." he caught up to Murdock, falling into step beside him. "Don't let Streif getcha down, dude...he is what he is. So...where to, bro?"

Georgi growled.

"People! You can't fuck now! Your gig is tonight! In 1 hour! Come on! There's going to be record producer there, go go go!"

He proceeded to trash the room... yup.

((OOC: Sorry, I'll get my juices running soon >_<))

"I am going to the place where we are playing our gig," Murdock said. "Gonna practice up a bit before hand, if you want you can come with me, I am taking the personal car. Wanna come?"

Suddenelly from behind a closed door comes the calm, deadpan voice that could only belong to max: "Dudes... shut up. I'm trying to meditate... MAN..."


((OOC: Yay! It's started!))

"I am going to the place where we are playing our gig," Murdock said. "Gonna practice up a bit before hand, if you want you can come with me, I am taking the personal car. Wanna come?"

Georgi sighed.

"Great, because your gig is in 30 minutes. I know you people want to fuck them, but if you do this gig, you can have as many whores as you want."

He looked towards the band.

"Come on guys!"

"Sure man Ill come but I got to say goodbye." Streif walks to jennifer and tels her goodbye and his reasons for leaving. He tells the rest of the band " dont worry guys, the girls will come to the concert and come back with us to the house."

Streif and Murdock leave the house. " Nice ride. I think I should probaly get a car soon. Anyone else want to come with us to practice?" he yells outside hoping someone would here him.

Iain had sat in a corner whilst his bandmates had argued over musical direction, fiddling a little bit with a bottle of beer in his hand. The pale, dark-haired Scot was (nominally) friends with Streif, although he'd argued more times with him than with any other person he'd ever met. He grinned a little.

"Rich? I don't know about you, but I certainly haven't had more money in my pocket recently. And as for famous... I think "one hit wonders" is the level we're at just now. I don't know about the rest of you, but I think we're going to start to make some tunes. After all, we don't want to be known as "That band that did the AC/DC track", we want to be known as "El Grande Tank." Rico's right, we've got to get it together and not just rest on this fame, y'know?" He took a swig and grinned again, wider this time.

"Oh, and Verd? Those girls look out of it. All you'll get out of them is probably a heavy session of snoozing. Throwing up if you're looking for action." He stood up and walked towards Rico and Murdoch. "Guys, wait up. I'm coming with. Verd can have all the sleepy groupies he wants."

Rico watched Streif get into Murdocks car, uninvited as usual. There was no way that the drummer could squeeze his big frame in the back seat of the car, and asking for the front would only lead to a confrontation, which would only lead to Streif having no teeth to make pretty smiles for the fans tonight - so Rico decided to grab a cab to the club, leaving Murdock to deal with Streif.

Georgi rushed towards the car, trying not to be left behind.

"Guys! Don't leave me damn it!"

He hopped inside the car, on the back really. Sure he was the first one in, but eh.

"Verd get your ass here now!"

Iain slipped into the back of the car after the others had piled in, making sure he hadn't spilled any of his beer.

"Let's rock and/or roll, boys."

what the f*ck man? Fine Ill take my motorcycle" he sayed with his british acent. He jumped out of the car.

"Trust me guys those whores aint sleepy at all. they may look like it but theyre rascly devils in bed. You know what I'm saying? Anyways, if they were theyre coming to the concert so the music should wake them up" Streif said.

He opened the garage and got on his bike. He turned on the engine and left to the concert.

[OOC: Harmonica? Sorry...I thought it said rock band, pop band. Slash, my ass.]

He drove the car to the gig, the other two in it with him, the radio off but he sang to himself as he went.

Every new day
seems like an old day
a memory
of my hidden past

I walk down every
street looking for something
but I do not know what its all about
And inside I really want to shout

and so now
I ask how
I can bring myself back up
from the deep pit I dug
I do not need no hug
just leave me alone...
...just leave me alone

So now I drive my
car to work all alone
not dropping you off
every single orange cone
that I pass reminds me
of how I used to be
and it makes me want to shout

and so now
I ask how
I can bring myself back up
from the deep pit I dug
I do not need no hug
just leave me alone...
...just leave me alone
just leave me alone...

He stopped singing, and continued to drive in silence. He then destoryed the silence he created. "Damn shame Steif doesn't want us to sing our own songs."

The taxi driver had driven like a madman, and Rico was glad to see the front of the club. Slipping the cabbie a twenty, the drummer left the car and stared across the street. Even though this was an unannounced, last-minute show, the lineup still stretched down the street and around the corner. Word-of-mouth was a powerful thing. Rico decided to walk past the fans, and like wildfire, a buzz spread through the crowd.

Cries of "Rico" began to erupt, and cheers and whistles could be heard. People started to press forward, some thrusting pens and paper at him, demanding an autograph. Rico complied, waving to the crowd. This was met with more cheers. This was what it was all about, thought the drummer. This is why I make the music. He signed a last autograph, and a buxom girls busom, and was let into the club by the very large doorman. He grabbed a vodka tonic at the bar before heading to the dressing room.

Murdock pulled the car to a halt at the side of the club, and he stepped out, he started walking through the crowd, smiling and waving at his fans, making sure everyone who wanted to see him saw him, not because he was high and mighty, but to make them happy.
He signed hundreds of autographs, on paper, shirts, arms and everything. Some he signed Murdock, others Dock, and a few Mr. Dock.
He continued through the wall, after getting a few pictures taken with fans, and then went to the dressing room, he noticed the only man he consider his true freind; Rico.
"Yo Rico whatsup?" He asked. "Sorry that you had to take a cab, that idiot didn't even wind up riding with me."

Streif had arrived right beside him and heard what murdock said. "Man, The manager kicked me out, cant blame me. After the performance we should start writing our own stuff".

hundreds of people surounded strief and asked him for his autograph." Fine, one time" he sayed smiling with his british acent. He took out his harmonica and started playing it. He did a blues Riff and he sang to it. When he was done the crowed aplauded. Murdock sighed and sayed " comeone Streif get out of there".

Murdock looked around in the dressing room.
"Hey is it just me or is not everyone here?" He asked as he spun around searching.

"Well, the two of us should be plenty, as usual..." Rico remarked sarcastically, stepping into the dressing room behind Murdock. He patted the lead singer on the shoulder, and stepped over to the snack bar. Picking up a cracker with unidentifiable sludge on it, Rico looked over at his long time friend.

"Tell me...are you getting as tired of this shit as I am? F*ck management, I say we play some of YOUR songs tonight, Doc. Just suprise 'em mid-set, nothing they can do." Rico was smiling, hoping Murdock would agree.

Georgi busts in to the dressing room... again. He looks at Murdock angrily.

"10 Minutes!!! Where is everybody damn it?!"

He started ripping the the dressing room, breaking mirrors, clothes, brushes and the like. He looked at Murdock.

"Find them!"

"Am I getting tired of management? Hell yeah," Murdock agreed. "You know what your right, damn right, make sure the entire band knows, we are gonna be playing my songs in the order I always have them in."

Georgi busts in to the dressing room... again. He looks at Murdock angrily.

"10 Minutes!!! Where is everybody damn it?!"

He started ripping the the dressing room, breaking mirrors, clothes, brushes and the like. He looked at Murdock.

"Find them!"
"Sir with all due respect I don't know where the hell some of us are, just give them time, they will be here," Murdock said.

"Sir with all due respect I don't know where the hell some of us are, just give them time, they will be here," Murdock said.

Georgi growled.

"Damn it! 10 Minutes!!!"

He looked at Rico, calming down for a minute.

"Oh... well now you play your own songs, I was waiting for you to realize that originality sells, now excuse me..."

Georgi stepped out of the room and started to curse...

Tommy Isadore's motorcycle careened over the narrow street, coming to a squeeling halt in front of the club. He jumped off, leaving the bike sprawled on the sidewalk, and running haphazardly into the alley alongside the building, ignoring the crowd that called his name. Finding the back door, he rushed inside, towards the dressing room.

Tommy rushed inside. His guitar case was sitting on the sofa.

"Good ol' roadies."

He walked towards the sofa, adjusting his headband as he went. He took out the guitar, a beautiful Les Paul, with a sunburst finish. He sat down and set about tuning up. He looked up, as if seeing the other bandmembers for the first time.

"What's our setlist tonight? And where are the damn drinks?"

Murdock tossed him a beer.
"This can hold you off for the minute, we are going to play my songs tonight, in the order I usually have them in," He said.

Murdock tossed him a beer.
"This can hold you off for the minute, we are going to play my songs tonight, in the order I usually have them in," He said.

"Your fuckin' songs? Since when is this your band? We're doin' Streif's set of fuckin' covers."

"Why so we can be called the band that sang songs from the bands of long ago?" Murdock asked. "I am tired of the management, its either we sing my songs, or I am out of here."

"Why so we can be called the band that sang songs from the bands of long ago?" Murdock asked. "I am tired of the management, its either we sing my songs, or I am out of here."

"Then you can get the hell out of here. Its called 'El Grande Tank', not the fuckin' Murdock show."

(OOC:I'll be playing the band's Venue Manager/lead roadie)

Chopper had just walked through the door of the guys dressing room when he heard the commotion. "Uhhh, guys Georgi told me to tell you to get the hell out there, he's about to blow his f*ckin top if ya know what i mean". He made sure that the guys were ready and had all they're equipment set up and on hand. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and toasted the band members. "To the guys who have made my life as a roadie extremely rewarding". "Now go on and get out there, your fans are waiting".

(OOC:Chopper has been the roadie since the band first started)

"Cept you can't perform a show without a singer, or a drummer for that matter," He said. "Rico has stuck with me through everything and I know he won't abandon me for this, and so if the harmonica player is more important than lead singer than so be it. I am out of here."
He walked out making sure he got all his stuff first, he walked through the crowd, generally dismissing those who tried to get his autographs, some realized something was up, he walked out of the club, and into the car, he waited for his freind to follow.

"Cept you can't perform a show without a singer, or a drummer for that matter," He said. "Rico has stuck with me through everything and I know he won't abandon me for this, and so if the harmonica player is more important than lead singer than so be it. I am out of here."
He walked out making sure he got all his stuff first, he walked through the crowd, generally dismissing those who tried to get his autographs, some realized something was up, he walked out of the club, and into the car, he waited for his freind to follow.

"Fine, get the fuck out of here then! We can get someone else!"

Tommy grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and drained it.

Tommy looked around the room at the remaining band members. His eyes fell upon Streif.

"You there, Streif. Can you sing?"

Georgi bust into the room, his face was red.

"Stop fighting! Get him back here! You guys are going to sing Murdock's songs, now!"

He left the room and proceeded to curse again.

Georgi bust into the room, his face was red.

"Stop fighting! Get him back here! You guys are going to sing Murdock's songs, now!"

He left the room and proceeded to curse again.

"Hey, Georgi-boy, If they want to go, let 'em go."

"Hey, Georgi-boy, If they want to go, let 'em go."

Geogi went back inside and started shouting again.

"I am not going to end up on National Enquieror because you two are whining like little babies! Now tell him to come back! It's an order!"

Geogi went back inside and started shouting again.

"I am not going to end up on National Enquieror because you two are whining like little babies! Now tell him to come back! It's an order!"

"You wanna give me orders now? Maybe I should join him!"

"You wanna give me orders now? Maybe I should join him!"

Georgi shook his head, now he was as bad as them. He took a deep breath and started to speak.

"Gentlemen, you are here because you are the best band in the world. I have helped become famous, but now because of a disagreement, that fame may go away."

He started to walk around.

"Think about it, one man leaves, the other leaves, pretty soon there is no band, there is no fame, there is no money, there is no sex."

He chuckled.

"And you do want sex right? Now I believe you should say sorry to each other, now. For 'El Tanke Grande'!"

Georgi shook his head, now he was as bad as them. He took a deep breath and started to speak.

"Gentlemen, you are here because you are the best band in the world. I have helped become famous, but now because of a disagreement, that fame may go away."

He started to walk around.

"Think about it, one man leaves, the other leaves, pretty soon there is no band, there is no fame, there is no money, there is no sex."

He chuckled.

"And you do want sex right? Now I believe you should say sorry to each other, now. For 'El Tanke Grande'!"

Tommy thought about it for a minute.

"Sex does sound pretty good right now. Alright, we'll work with it for now, but tomorrow we get on original material. I'm not playing Murdock's shit forever."

Maxwell walks into the dressing room

"dudes... stop with all the fighting... We came here to rock and rock is what we shall do. so how about everybody just calms down, and start doing what we came here to do!"

((OOC: Rockopotamia, since Gawdly and Techon's guys go back, you want to RP it like our guys are old friends, since we're the guitarists and all?))

Georgi nodded.

"Good, apologize. Because we're on in 3 minutes!!!"

Georgi slammed the door and left the room.

Murdock was pushed back into the room.
"Goddamnit Georgi," He said as he looked around. "Damnit looks like I am stuck with you guys. After this I won't demand anything, but tonight lets just play" He said then looked at Tommy. "Some of my shit." He said with a disgusted face.

Tommy flipped him the bird, and got back to his whiskey and his guitar.

Murdock put his hands up in the air and made a false hurt face.
"Ow that hurt me so much," He said then added. "Thats childish man, it really is."

Georgi entered the room.

"You're on! You're on!"

Murdock turned around.
"Fine," He said.
He walked out the door, and back behind the stage, he walked onto it first, and received the wave of applause, he frowned, Tommy had a point, his songs were shit.

Tommy grabbed his Les Paul, and ran out on stage after Murdock, cigarette still hanging from his mouth. He burst into a short but prodigious guitar solo. The crowd went wild. Women threw panties on stage, and held up signs reading "I adore Isadore."

Paul Sheperd smiled as his favorite band finally crushed the audience with their Rock 'n Roll. He grabbed for his bottle which appeared to hold Jack.
He handed out a couple of guitars as strings were played till they broke.

With the music still raging through the backstagehallways, he walked backstage to supply the dressing rooms with beer and whiskey. He took some little bags out of his pocket. Home-grown and the best stuff around. He felt proud for his weed.

As the band was still playing he got to the audience. The finest nose for chicks knew what he wanted. "You!" called Paul "Come on backstage." A girl shouting all the lyrics looked surprised. She hesitated. "And bring some friends..." He never looked back as 5 girls followed him backstage.

Paul chuckled. "This is the life!" he said out loud.

When Murdock stomped out the door, Rico was about to follow him when he decided that if this was the end of the Tankes, he was going out with a bang...actually, Streif was. He'd been wanting to lay the smack-down on that little punk for a long time, and the big, muscular drummer flexed his massive arms in preparation. He was about to bitch-slap the harmonica player when Murdock came back in the room, agreeing to go on stage. Good ole Doc, always looking out for the band. Rico decided Streif could live for now, and that Doc was gonna have a mofo of a drummer behind him tonight, laying down the beats to Murdocks original songs.

He heard the crowd scream, and Rico came alive. He settled behind his drum kit, hidden by the shadows. Suddenly, an explosion shattered the night, and the stage was bathed in flashing green light. Murdock and the Tanke tore into their first number with hard-driving gusto.

it was 1 minute before the second song . Streif was on the stage with the rest of the group " listen guys we shouldnt break up the band, and did you even hear what I said? We havent got a CD out yet and this is only our second performance. For our next performance we will right our own songs, and did you even read my list? It sayed on itthat the last song would be one of our own songs to blow the audience away. We only really just started. Ok? Let's get playing"

Murdock grabbed the mircophone, seemily making out with it as he sung.

They fear me
They think that we...
Want to take their souls away
They think we are spiders
Waiting for our prey
They don't see the truth in me

Don't want to make it hurt
But sometimes I have no choice
People are afraid of me
They turn their backs and run

Sometimes, when I go to school
I am mistreated
And everything is repeated
I am abused
I get confused
Then the world comes crashing down

Don't want to make it hurt
But sometimes I have no choice
People are afraid of me
they turn their backs and run

Does pain mean I'm alive?
When I cannot strive
When I only have half
Of what should be full

Don't want to make it hurt
But sometimes I have no choice
People are afraid of me
They turn their backs and run

I lay in my bed
Wondering what I said
To deserve what I've been through
Then I cry myself to sleep

Don't want to make it hurt
But sometimes I have no choice
People are afraid of me
They turn their backs and run

He slammed the skins as if he was beating off a nightmare, and Rico drove the machine, his pounding riff guiding the other musicians unerringly. It was times like this he was truly alive, when the music was part of him, when the band kicked it as a team. Rico eyed the crowd, glad to see it was a good looking one. Young bodies flailed at the front of the stage, the security people doing a grand job of holding the more enthusiastic members back.

Murdock was singing "Make it Hurt", one of Rico's favorites, and the drummer added some flourishes with the cymbals that brought a new dimension to the sound. Murdock noticed, and walked back towards the drums, singing with the unique voice that was his trademark. He put a foot up on the big bass drum, and shared the spotlight, and a knowing smile, with his long time friend, Rico.

The drummer noticed Streif move to the center of the stage, drawing some attention off of Doc and himself. Rico felt a flush of anger at the harmonica player, grandstanding yet again. This should have been Murdocks moment...and his own.

Ooc: Omg!!!! You Guys Started!!?!!?!?!? Argh!

Tommy ripped through the song. His solo was ferocious, like he was playing his guitar with a chainsaw. He Angus-ed all over the place, going crazy, charging across the stage, spinning around on the floor. The crowd loved it.

Slash joined in with his own solo, before doing something totally amazing. Playing with one hand, he use the other to get his Katana out, and started doing some damgerous sword dancing/flips. The crowd screamed out to him in amazement.

Paul Sheperd and one of the girls joined the other 4 backstage. Paul looked at her and smiled "HELL YEAH!". He catches Tommy's guitar as Tommy flings it towards him, since once more the majority of strings is broken. He throws back a Les Paul and puts new strings on the SG. He yells to the band.

"Do Thunderstruck!"

Paul throws a bottle of Jack to Rico and opens one up for himself.

Doc was chatting up the frenzied crowd, and Rico took a break to wipe the sweat off his naked chest, and take a swig of his good friend, Jack Daniels. The dark liquid burned, the good burn, the burn that gave the edge, the edge to rock your soul. He took a few more shots, raised the bottle in mock salute to the crowd, and got ready for Murdocks signal for the next song.

ooc: where's the bassplayer?

ooc: where's the bassplayer?

((OOC: Passed out probably.))

ooc: can I replace him(/her, genderqueer)? :D

ooc: can I replace him(/her, genderqueer)? :D

((OOC: What are you now? Are you the roadie guy? If so, go ahead. If he comes back, we'll hit him over the head with a large stick, and hide him in a closet. No one will ever know the difference.))

ooc: here comes

ic:
Iain the bass player passes out in the middle of the set. Lucky El Grande Tank no one saw it. Paul "That Roadie Guy" Sheperd shouted to Doc: "Keep on talking, play some instrumentel shit or anything... Iain has passed out!" Paul takes Iains bass and pulls Iain outside. It was his life long dream to play in El Grande Tank, but never though it could even happen. He knew all the songs by heart and could play them on bass.

His dream...

Hesitantly he hangs the bass around his shoulders and looks at the rest of the band. He looks back at the girls: "Look after Iain, ok?" He seeks eyecontact with Doc

His dream...

Tommy Isadore saw that Paul the roadie had taken up Iain's bass. Tommy gave him a nod of approval. The instrumental filler finished, and Murdock opened his mouth to speak, but Tommy saw an opportunity, cutting him off and bursting into a rendition of Blue Oyster Cult's The Reaper. The rest of the band kicked in.

Magically Pauls fingers stopped trembling and started to tag along with The Reaper. He stayed a bit behind the curtains and the amps. Afraid of what the audience might think. But he kept on rocking. He never felt better. His fingers kept going and going. Was this his 5 seconds of fame? Would it last longer? How was Iain? Will I slip up?
His mind kept racing through all of his thoughts, but the rythm and melody and lyrics kept floating up. He had to play. For El Grande Tank...

Chopper had been sitting in the band's dressing room repairing broken strings, straps,etc, when he heard some voices coming down the hall. One of the girls Paul had picked brought Iain to the room. He picked Iain up and set him down on the couch, careful not to let him fall over. He then too up one of the Les Pauls he had just repaired and proceeded to play Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters". He loved this song because it reminded him that no matter what happens there are some things that really matter. This was the concept he was trying to show El Grande Tanke. He wanted to show them that its the fans, and friendships that really matter.

ooc: too bad we can't see or hear you

Murdock turned around to Paul, and nodded at him, he then looked back at the crowd. "You ready to hear our next song!?" He called out.

ooc: too bad we can't see or hear you

OOC: After the concert, is when I give my "mini-speech"

either take the names Izzy and Slash out of that post... or you will die... don't even deface the immortality of Guns 'n Roses you swine... :mad: :sniper:

either take the names Izzy and Slash out of that post... or you will die... don't even deface the immortality of Guns 'n Roses you swine... :mad: :sniper:

((OOC: He is completely right. This is entirely un-Izzified. Totally not what i envisioned. In order to preserve the great and unadulterable honor of the Holy Gn'f'nR's, the names must be banished from this post. So sayeth the User of His Illusion.))

When Iain fainted Streif felt stress because Iain was his good friend. " What The f*ck happened? Jesus christ! Someone better take care of him, we got to get him to a f*cking hospital. Jesus Christ!"


Later in the night,They had done all the songs exept for their last one. The last one the one that Murdock and Streif wrote together when the band was just starting out. Rico started the beat to it. Streif started playing his harmonica. Murdock started singing to it. Tommy started playing his guitar. Iain started playing his bass. The crowed was cheering. In his mind Streif was wondering what was going on. He knew the band was terring apart but he was wondering why. Him and Iain kept on trying to keep the band together. The thing that worried Streif the most was that the band just started 6 months ago.

The song finished to a huge aplause. "Awesome work on your singing, mate" Streif sayed to Murdock. Streif bowed to the audience, so did the rest of the band. The audience adored them. Suddenly three men came out of the backstage, they were heroes to the band. These men were Neil Young, Eric Clapton and Paul Macartney.

As Iain had recovered, Paul had to give back the bass in a high. The audience felt so great. The applauding, the cheering, the singing. But now he was depressed. Listening to Choppers Nothing Else Matters, he actually wanted that Iain had not gotten up. He felt he betrayed his friends, for the band were his friends. In these past 6 months he had spent more time with them then EVER with his family. He opened up his second bottle of Jack after draining the first one withing ten minutes.

Calmly he walked to the backstage toilet and vomitted heavily. What a waste, he thought, but he was so sick of himself for his betrayal. He never heard the guys finished playing as he lay wasted on the tioletfloor, a bottle of whiskey between his legs.

OOC: Sorry. I've caught a cold, and spent all of last day in bed in abject misery.

Iain had been in awe when he had got out of the car - all the fans, all the screaming. He gave a sheepish wave as he sauntered into the gig with the others, feeling nervous with all the noise, all the expectation.

When the others started playing, though, he started to get into the music, feeling it get into his mind and take him into a better place... he smiled, winked, just started having fun, really. As the two guitarists started trying to outdo each other in terms of ostentatious solos, he laughed out loud, although inwardly he thought; bloody showoffs. But he still carried on, not saying a word. After all, if there was any more fighting he didn't think the band could take it. Plus, he liked Murdoch's songs. The less covers, the better.

Suddenly he felt a little faint. Maybe it was the alcohol he'd drunk, maybe it was the hot stage lights, but he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. The song had finished, and he felt the floor coming up to meet him...

...he woke up with a start. He looked around, in a panic. What had happened? Where am I? It was just the dressing room. He heard Chopper playing the guitar, back to him, seemingly enjoying himself. Iain held his head in his hands, and swung himself up, quietly. "Sweet playing, man." he said, although he nearly scared the hell out of Chopper who hadn't seen him get up. He shook his head, made sure he was okay, and made his way back to the stage. He'd missed a fair bit of the set, but he swaggered on and threw his arms up in the air as they finished the last song - the band, and the roadie who had taken over. He took the bass from Paul, slapped him on the back in a friendly way and smiled at him. He swung the bass back around him and got back into the rhythm of the music as if nothing had happened, until they finished the set and the fans gave their last crescendo of screaming and applause for them. He strode off of the set and made his way back to the dressing room, where he sat down and put his head in his hands, not believing how he could cock up so badly.

When the others made their way back in, he just mumbled "Sorry. I'll see you back at the place." He didn't know what else to say. He grabbed his jacket and slowly slipped out of the dressing room, a glum look on his face.

The show was finished, and so was Rico.

He stood in the middle of the dressing room, moments after the encore. He was covered in sweat, the big veins popping out in his massive arms. Rico liked to drum HARD. He was pissed, pissed at the show, pissed at the band and pissed in general.

"I'm done...thats it, I'm gone. You bloody wanks don't understand what this is about, do you? You think its all about the money, and the chicks and the poses...well, lemme tell you, WE SUCKED TONIGHT!"

He glared at them all, one by one, his eyes defying them to say something. The smart ones stayed quiet.

"Understand this: I play for Murdock, and no one else. I play the music he tells me to, when he wants it. Doc is the only one here that can make us into something unique, not a frickin' cover band."

He was really angry now, his voice rising to a shout.

"You f*cks wanna own the stage, fine, start yer own band...maybe we'll let you open for us one day. In the meantime, stay the f*ck outta the spotlight and let Doc do his thing. Next one of you who thinks different will answer to me, capiche?" As he ended his rant, Rico finished by lifting a guitar in the air, and snapping it in two. It was only then he noticed the strangers sitting in the dressing room. One of them spoke to him, in a slight British accent:

"I believe that was MY guitar...?" Rico turned quickly, ready to shove the pieces deeply into the orifice of the speaker. He froze quickly, realizing who was speaking to him.

Paul McCartney looked pissed.

The show was finished, and so was Rico.

He stood in the middle of the dressing room, moments after the encore. He was covered in sweat, the big veins popping out in his massive arms. Rico liked to drum HARD. He was pissed, pissed at the show, pissed at the band and pissed in general.

"I'm done...thats it, I'm gone. You bloody wanks don't understand what this is about, do you? You think its all about the money, and the chicks and the poses...well, lemme tell you, WE SUCKED TONIGHT!"

He glared at them all, one by one, his eyes defying them to say something. The smart ones stayed quiet.

"Understand this: I play for Murdock, and no one else. I play the music he tells me to, when he wants it. Doc is the only one here that can make us into something unique, not a frickin' cover band."

He was really angry now, his voice rising to a shout.

"You f*cks wanna own the stage, fine, start yer own band...maybe we'll let you open for us one day. In the meantime, stay the f*ck outta the spotlight and let Doc do his thing. Next one of you who thinks different will answer to me, capiche?" As he ended his rant, Rico finished by lifting a guitar in the air, and snapping it in two. It was only then he noticed the strangers sitting in the dressing room. One of them spoke to him, in a slight British accent:

"I believe that was MY guitar...?" Rico turned quickly, ready to shove the pieces deeply into the orifice of the speaker. He froze quickly, realizing who was speaking to him.

Paul McCartney looked pissed.

((OOC: Paul is going to kick your ass.))

<<OOC: Bah, without Ringo I can take Paul.>>

"Aww shit.." Murdock said as he looked over at the pissed Paul.
He walked next to Rico, and waited.

"Aww shit.." Murdock said as he looked over at the pissed Paul.
He walked next to Rico, and waited.

((OOC: Jesus! Don't tell me you're going to attack Paul McCartney!))

Slash stepped foward to Rico.

"Listen to me you f*ck! I'm gonna say this, loud, and I'm gonna say it clear, leave the band alone! But I'm in agreement with you Rico. I want to play what Murdock plays, and hey, we're buds anyway. But keep off the band. Our manager makes the decisions on what we play. And anyway, we didn't suck! I think we kicked ass. Anyway, I'll be in my room practicing if anyone needs me. I'll leave you to the dogs Rico." he said, grinning. Holstering his Katana, Slash turned and walked off into the nearest room. He sat on a couch, and started to play...

(OOC: I just said I was waiting, not fighting, I am waiting for what he says)

<<OOC: Yup...but who speaks for Paul??>>

Rico watched him go. Slash was a big man when he had his pig-sticker with him, which was almost always. He could have snapped the long-haired musicians neck with barely a squeeze, but he didn't: he was too busy staring at the Legend who's guitar he had just broken into two pieces.

He would take care of Slash later...in fact, he was beginning to suspect that something big was bout to happen: either he and Murdock (and maybe the Iain, the bass player) were going to leave to start a new band, or Rico was going to go to jail (again) for assault.

Rico looked down at the ex-Beatle.

"Hey man," Paul said. "You broke my guitar."
He walked closer to Rico. "What was that for?"

Rico looked down at the man that meant so much to modern rock, the man that had more hit singles than Streif had poser-moves. Now he was looking up at the drummer, a controlled anger smouldering in his eyes.

"Wow." said Rico, stunned by the fact he was talking to THE Paul McCartney.

"Dude, I mean...Mr.Dude sir...uhmm...really, I'm waaaay sorry...uhm...can I get yer autograph, man??" was all he could stammer out. McCartney just looked angrier, and ready to stand on a telephone book so he could punch Rico in the nose. Paul was much smaller in real life.

Paul Sheperd (to avoid confusion) woke up from the toilet. Feeling bad. He heard the guys stopped playing, but were now arguing. Rico was raging again. When push would come to shove, Sheperd would not stand in his way. Rico was way to big for any of the band.

In the dressing room there was Rico. Face to face with some one he did not recognize immediatly. Mainly of the 2 bottles of Scotch. The man was old, so Sheperd said: "You're not gonna hit the geezer are you, Big Guy?"

Paul McCartney only got more furious...

Rico realized his fists were clenched, and he had encroached on McCartneys personal space. He was still pumped up in anger at the rest of the band, and if Shep (Paul Sheperd) thought he was gonna smack the old musician, then Rico probably was: Shep knew Rico well, well enough to stay out of his way when he was THIS angry. Rico took a step back.

"Nah Shep...we're good. Right, Mr.McCartney??"

ooc: dude, some one's gotta hit

<<OOC: Rico won't start the fight, but would end it quickly. Jeez, at least THAT would give him the fame he seeks..."The Man Who Whupped the Beatle"

Slash got bored. So he decided to see what happend. He stopped playing 'Duality', set his guitar down, and went into the dressing room.

"Yo Rico! You scared to start on Paul? I mean you did break his guitar, and it would be funny to see your ass be kicked...again." he said, laughing.

McCartney looked around. The band held it's breath. "FUCK!" he yelled. The band flinched. "Don't you guys have a phonebook? I can't reach the bears nose"

The band hesitated. Shep had no idea what had happened or what was happening, but he though the geezer was funny. He started laughing painfully. His stomach still hurt from vomitting.

Slash stopped laughing.

"Sure, here!" Slash shouted. He went inside his room, came out, and threw a hefty phonebook at Paul...

The book never made it, as Rico bitch-slapped it to the ground, much like he was about to do with Slash. He stepped quickly towards the smaller guitarist, big hands clenching in anticipation.

Slash smirked, and got his Katana out. He held it out in front of him.

"You sure about this Rico?" Slash asked, the name seemed to match what his next action probably would be...

OOC: Jesus, I leave you lot alone for one minute... ;)

Iain had slipped out of the gig venue, taking careful steps not to be noticed by any of the fans still hanging round. He moved into the street, looking about furtively... he'd probably not get noticed now anyway. He had stayed in the background for a lot of things concerning the publicity the band got, and as such wasn't so widely recognised as say, Doc, or Verd, or Rico. He was looking for a bar, preferably a darkened one, preferably a bit of a dive. He came to a small bar with neon lighting outside, looking a bit grubby and worse for wear. Great, he thought. He made his way in, and ordered and paid for a bottle of beer from the bartender. He got it rather quickly, and took a swig. Tastes like horse piss. He didn't make a face, though. He'd gotten good at that, hiding what he felt. In a band with so many dominant personalities, it was just easier that way.

He felt he'd fucked up. Badly so. Fainting at a gig? What a wussy thing to do. he thought, taking another swig at the beer. Sid Vicious never fainted on stage, and he cut himself with razor blades. Mind you, he was a crap bass player, too. He chuckled to himself softly. Then he remembered why he was there - drowning all of his sorrows in booze - and sank back into smothering self-pity. What'll the others do when I get back? He sighed, and continued to drink on.

The room started spinning again for Shep. There was just too much going on and his body could not take anymore. He vomitted again and fell weakly to the ground. Some whiskey and bile splattered on the remains of McCartney's guitar. "Shit" thought Shep, "some one's gonna get pissed for this..."

OOC: Night!

IC: Slash swung his Katana round, as if a challenge...

ooc: good night indeed, I'm passed out anyway again

((OOC: All right, this has gone far enough. It's fine if you guys want to kick each other's asses, but if you lay a finger on The Sir Paul McCartney, I will shoot every last one of you.))

Murdock had snuck behind Slash, he grabbed the man's elbow, and then the wrist, and pushed both hands in opposite directions, Slash yelled in pain as the Katana flew up into the air, Murdock caught it by the hilt and spun it around, before throwing it out of the room.
"Mr. McCartney," Murdock started "I am extremely sorry, I will pay for whatever the damage."

The blade: always with the blade. Rico prepared himself to be cut, something one should always do before fighting someone with a katana. He figured he would take the blade in the arm, and counter around it. Sure, he'd be cut, but Slash would be broken. Good deal.

Doc covered his back, as usual. The katana went flying end over end, and tossed out of the room. Slash, without his blade, was nothing. Rico smirked, knowing that this little blow-up was now over. There was no honor in thrashing a worm. Rico turned back to the ex-Beatle.

"Mr.Ringo...err...McPauley...heh...really, I'm sorry. If I had known that was your guitar, I never would have...I mean...oh, f*uck it." Rico was ashamed of his actions, and left the room.

He stepped outside the back door, and lit a joint. After a few puffs, he started to wander down the alley, and noticed Iain walking unsteadily ahead of him. He followed him as he turned into a small bar. Rico thought a drink would be great about now, and went into the bar, stepping up beside his friend. He always appreciated Iain's talent, as well as the wisdom he brought to the band. Rico needed a friend now.

"Heya bro...can I buy you a beer?" he said with a smile, clapping Iain on the shoulder.

Streif wasnt seeing the fight he was in the crowed meeting people and talking to Neil Young and Eric Clapton. When he was done he got back on the stage and went into backstage with Eric and Neil. He saw Paul Macartney lying on the ground. " Holy f*cking sh*t guys. Thats Paul f*cking Macartney!!!! I'm taking him to a f*cking hospital".

<<OOC: I must have missed the part where Paul fell down.>>

ooc: he's an old man... maybe he just fell for no reason? :p

Shep rose again, his head throbbing, balance still wavering. He looked around into another scenery. Rico was gone, Slash (ooc: didn't we agree to get another name?) was there, rubbing his wrists and the old man lay on the ground. It was now that Shep first recognised the geezer. "It's Paul McF*CKINGCarthy!" he said surprised with a weak voice. As he rose further, catching his balance on a couch, the fuzz lifted. "What happened to him?"

Slash picked up his Katana, and cursed. Once again, Murdock had stopped him from kicking Rico's arse. And Slash didn't like that. Not one bit. He went into hhis room, and opened up a closet. Shoving all the clothes aside, he got out two dummies he'd bought off ebay.

He set them up each side of him, and Slash breathed out. He gritted his teeth, held the Katana, in front of him, screamed, and lashed out at the right dummy. The blade sliced through the air and went through the dummy. Slash continued to pivot on his heel, and the blade sliced through the second dummy. Slash then returned to his starting posistion, and sighed. Two rubber heads rolled past him...

Iain perked up slightly as he saw Rico. He lifted the hand with the bottle of beer in it.

"Nah, mate, well ahead of you there. You want something?"

"Just a friendly face, bro, just a friendly face." Rico sat down heavily beside Iain, exhaustion in his posture. Ordering himself a beer and another for Iain, he turned to his friend. Looking at him, he realized that apart from Murdock and some of the roadies, Iain was the only person he trusted right now.

"We're finished, aren't we? I mean, this band ain't gonna work...is it? Or is it just me??"

Slash sighed. There were limbs everywhere, and not much else to do. He grunted, and holstered his Katana.

Fame...
Money...
Girls...
...
What else?
...
Fame...

Slash fell onto his bed. He rubbed his eyes, and put his hands behind his head.

"Is it worth the trouble?" Slash asked himself. He sighed deeply, and for the first time ever, took his holster off. He laid it on the desk to the left of his bed, and then sat down, his head down. His hair obscured the tears running down his face...

Shep went after Slash. Unsteady still but determined.

"Slash you f*cking wanker," he said as angry as he could cope, "Paul McCartney passed out because of you. Now you'd better take him to the hospital or something. He isn't looking too good on the floor with the broken guitar and the vomit and the phonebook." He turned around to go back to check on Paul. "Oh yeah," as he realised he forgot something, "Sell your f*cking knife or leave it at home"

"No." Slash said. His voice was flat, and level. He stood up, and went over to the desk.

"No to Paul, and..." Slash yanked out the Katana from it's holster. Before Shep could react, Slash swung with the flat side of the sword.

*SMACK!*

It hit Shep's face, sending his backwards into the wall. The wall broke in a bit, and then Shep fell onto the floor.

"Never say ANYTHING about MY F**KING KATANA! It's the only ing friend I've got..." Slash screamed, even though Shep would be stunned, or unconscious. Slash packed his things into his bag, put a shirt on, put the holster on, hosltered his Katana, got his bag on, picked up his guitar, and walked out. He walked over Paul McCartney, and walked out into the night...

Streif, Clapton and Young saw everything."Holy F*ck!" Streif said with his british acent. " Shep are you okay man. I guess not. Come on guys lets take them to a hospital. F*ck. Freaking maniacs. I wonder what the f*ck they were thinking" Streif picked up Paul Macartney. Eric Clapton and Neil Young picked up shep. They dropped the guys in a Erics car and drove to the hospital.

At the hospital Eric, Verdanand and Neil were sitting down in a room with two beds beside them. In one bed was Paul Macartney and in the other was shep.

Murdock walked after Slash's and looked at the man, he walked forward with a quick, stride, grabbing onto the sword's hand he twisted his wrists, flipping the sword into the air, he caught it and threw it into the alleyway.
"What the f*ck did you do!? And why is everyone saying f*ck a lot!?" He yelled, and then kicked Slash in the side of the head, knocking the man out.
He walked back into the alleyway, and grabbed the sword, he handed it to a security guard, and told the man to dispose of it. The guard walked down the alleyway with it, and in a chain of events, it wound up in a city dump out of harm's way.

<<OOC: I'd reply, but I'm too busy giggling.>>>

"Just a friendly face, bro, just a friendly face." Rico sat down heavily beside Iain, exhaustion in his posture. Ordering himself a beer and another for Iain, he turned to his friend. Looking at him, he realized that apart from Murdock and some of the roadies, Iain was the only person he trusted right now.

"We're finished, aren't we? I mean, this band ain't gonna work...is it? Or is it just me??"

"It might, it might not." Iain's face turned dark. "It all depends on how many times I fuck up, or how many times someone else squabbles over a set list."

Hello Im David Hopjohn Owner of Wild Steel Records. I saw Your show I like yo guystyle i think it'll be perfect for our label.

BOLs Beard Hopjon

Hello Im David Hopjohn Owner of Wild Steel Records. I saw Your show I like yo guystyle i think it'll be perfect for our label.

BOLs Beard Hopjon
(OOC: Talk about spasmodic and random stuff)

The self-doubt in Iain's voice shocked the big drummer, simply because when Iain played, he was an artist unleashed...pure skill combining with extreme style, with a shake of respect and a dollop of wisdom. Rico himself was a pounder, hearing three different beats in his head and playing them all simultaneously; Murdock was the face, the voice, the reason. But Iain, well Iain was the rock, the foundation they built on. Rico had noticed that Iain had been drinking a bit more than usual, but nothing out of the ordinary.

"Dude...shit happens. You ate something that disagreed with you, that's all, no biggie. The crowd loved it, they were cheering for you until the end. Nah, the problem really ain't you at all, bro."

Rico sipped his beer then lit a small cigar. The silence between the two bandmates was heavy, and Rico decided to make it heavier.

"The problem with our band is...it ain't OUR band. Frickin' management tells Doc he has to play with nutjobs like our own resident Samurai Jack, and the Brit named Streif...dude, we have a frickin' harmonica in the band now." Rico took a long draw from his cigar and blew it out slowly. He spoke quietly, his eyes far, far away.

"I wish...I wish we could just go back to the way it was: you, me and Doc. Brother, we were one tight buncha mofo's, remember? All we need to do is add a couple of hot backup singers," Rico smiled at Iain,"and of course, spandex."

Rico laughed at his own joke, and made the signal for another round.

Streif was waiting for a doctor to tell him, Eric and Neil to do.

" I mean come on." Streif said " This band I'm in only has done two gigs and everything sudenly f*cks up! I wish it was like how it used to be. When we were all friends. I dont know why but I was there from the start and for some reason Rico wants to forget that. Freaking Maniacs! I wish the band could just get along."

Eric sighed and sayed " well man you played a great performance, I dont see any reason why youre band would want to break up. Its just theyre are some problems with the personalitys but nobody is perfect."

Neil Young took out his back up and opened it up, he took out a golden harmonica. " You played amaizing on the harmonica, man, I would like you to have this."

Streif smiled and sayed " Thanks man. Ill always remember it. Ill use it for my performances. Thanks." Neil Gave him the harmonica.

OOC: Techon, you didn't red my last post right. Slash has left the building. As in he's outside, in the night. If you want to do that to him, run outside and get him.

OOC: Jeez, I pass out a big deal of the time. Techon: Outer Heaven is right.

IC:
Shep hardly knew anything from the gig. His face hurt bigtime. And he was... in a bed? What am I doing in a bed like this? He heard muffled voices, but nothing clear yet. His vision was still blurred too. As he tried to speak only raw sounds came from his throat. DAMN! What happened? As his eyes started adjusting to the room and the light he looked around. Paul McCartney? What is he doing here? He still heard the voices and Streif's accent was very clear to him. But who are those other two? Is that... Neil Young and Eric Clapton? Am I dead or something? He tried to sit up, but his muscles did not respond much to his head, so he tried speaking again. Still very faint, but audible in the silence of the hospital. "Streif, dude, what happened? My head is about to explode; I didn't drink that much did I? How's Paul? Why is he here? And why are Eric and Neil here too?" Questions kept popping in his head. Questions and an image something slashing at his face...

" Slash, well, Slash knocked you out with his sword. All these people in the band just f*cking maniacs.I really dont understand it"

(OOC- what happened to the sex and the drugs, the band has only played two gigs, they havent even had a CD out yet, two gigs not two years)


Streif even when he was a kid, knew some rock stars. Streif is a very talented musician because he can play or sing just about anything exept for drums and bass. He was pissed at some of his Band Members because he knew that a good chance could be ruin and the guys in the band may not be able to make it in a new band or solo. This was their moment and it just got screwed up. Streif thought back to when he was a kid and how he got into rock.

When Streif was a kid, he first played guitar. His dad was in the music industry and produced alot of famous bands. When he was thirteen and still playing guitar he was great for his age. On his Birthday turning 15 Jimi Hendrix gave him a guitar because he knew of his talent. Jimi Hendrix was one of Streifs heros. Hendrix in fact started giving him lessons on the guitar. Unfortunately, later in Streif's life his good friend Jimi died of an overdose. Streif started learning all these different instruments. Much later is when El Grande Tank started, Him and some friends got together and started playing. They decided that theyre really good so they decided to make themsevles into an actual band.

And now here he is in a hospital with a hurt roadie and a hurt Paul Macartney. " Life sure is funny" he sayed to himself. Neil and Eric left the room already. The Doctor was coming with a verdect.

The doctor walked in. " Youre gonna be alright man" Streif said to shep " whats gonna happen?" he asked the doctor. " Heres what I have to say" the doctor sayed " Paul Shepperd is going to be alright, I see he woke up, Ill just give him a bottle of vitamins so hell stay healthy from his knock out and he can go. Sir Paul Macartney is worse. Hell have to be in here for a month"

"F*ck, thats bad about Paul, it's also bad for Rico but thank god Shep is ok." Shep got out of his bed the doctor gave him the medications and Shep went with Streif to Eric and Neils van were they were waiting.

They all got into the car."Come on let's get the f*ck out of here" Streif sayed " long day this was, very long, Rico got the fuzz on his ass now unfortunately. Let's go"

(OOC: Is it just me or is this RP getting far? Apart from playing one show all that has been accomplished is the fact that we can't not put violence into RPs lol and that all we do is fight)

(OOC: Is it just me or is this RP getting far? Apart from playing one show all that has been accomplished is the fact that we can't not put violence into RPs lol and that all we do is fight)

<<OOC: Agreed. You should just come join us at the bar, we'll start a new band. >>

Rico got the fuzz on his ass now unfortunately. Let's go"

<<OOC: Ummm, I don't think the cops will be coming after me because I broke Paul McCartneys guitar...though they may be interested in talking with Slash who attacked his roadie with a samurai sword. Slightly more illegal, methinks.>>

<<OOC: Agreed. You should just come join us at the bar, we'll start a new band. >>
(OOC: Sounds like a good idea)

After slugging out Slash outside Murdock made his way into the bar, sitting down beside his two freinds.
"Hoy," He said.

Slash went to a nearby bar. He was ed off big time, and he needed a drink to unwind. So Slash took his holster and top off, put his holster on, and then his top. With his abg on, the sword wouldn't be visable. So Slash walked into the bar, and after going through the crowd, ended up at the actual counter, he sat down next to some guy, and as he sat, his bag went into the guy. Slash cursed and turned.

"Hey dude sor..." he paused mid-sentance, it was Iain.

Rico saw Doc entering the bar, and waved him over to sit with him and Iain. Doc updated them on what had happened after they had left the dressing room, while Rico ordered beers for everyone. The three of them ignored Slash, even when he bumped into Iain.

"Dude, that's what I'm talking about. Before we put this current line-up together, we were on the right track, doing our own thing and proud of it. I ain't proud of what happened tonight." Rico chugged his beer and realized he was getting a healthy glow on. He grabbed his fresh beer and took a hefty swig.

"Y'know what I say? I say f*uck El Grande Tanke. F*ck the contract. We go solo. The Three f*ckin' Musketeers dude..." The big drummer drained his beer and slammed his fist on the bar. The bartender approached, an unhappy look in his eye. Rico tossed a hundred dollar bill at him.

"Gimme another coupla rounds, an' keep the change, man..."

The self-doubt in Iain's voice shocked the big drummer, simply because when Iain played, he was an artist unleashed...pure skill combining with extreme style, with a shake of respect and a dollop of wisdom. Rico himself was a pounder, hearing three different beats in his head and playing them all simultaneously; Murdock was the face, the voice, the reason. But Iain, well Iain was the rock, the foundation they built on. Rico had noticed that Iain had been drinking a bit more than usual, but nothing out of the ordinary.

"Dude...shit happens. You ate something that disagreed with you, that's all, no biggie. The crowd loved it, they were cheering for you until the end. Nah, the problem really ain't you at all, bro."

Rico sipped his beer then lit a small cigar. The silence between the two bandmates was heavy, and Rico decided to make it heavier.

"The problem with our band is...it ain't OUR band. Frickin' management tells Doc he has to play with nutjobs like our own resident Samurai Jack, and the Brit named Streif...dude, we have a frickin' harmonica in the band now." Rico took a long draw from his cigar and blew it out slowly. He spoke quietly, his eyes far, far away.

"I wish...I wish we could just go back to the way it was: you, me and Doc. Brother, we were one tight buncha mofo's, remember? All we need to do is add a couple of hot backup singers," Rico smiled at Iain,"and of course, spandex."

Rico laughed at his own joke, and made the signal for another round.

Iain laughed too, then stared into the middle distance. He grinned for a second, and then looked round at Rico, slyly.

"The spandex is all. We must be one with the spandex, until the point where it chafes us to oblivion."

He turned serious. "You're right, though. These past few weeks have been... well, unreal. Not in a good way, though. More like a nightmare than a dream. You know, I'm really beginning to hate AC/DC... and you know I don't want that to happen. I don't mind the 'harmonica', really. I'm just beginning to get pissed off by the person blowing into it, who seems to spend more time blowing off about himself than blowing into that sodding piece of metal."

At that point, Doc sat down next to them. "Nice timing, Doc." said Iain. "You know what? Fuck management. Bollocks to them all, stooges to the record bosses. Who needs a manager? We didn't. We never did. Let's do it. And you know, if we get a record deal again, we'll do it on our terms." His voice had risen to nearly a shout now, drawing attention in the bar. "Let's get the hell out of...Ow!" He was nudged forward. He turned around, and saw Slash. Slash began to apologise, but Iain had no time for him. He jumped off the stool, and turned to him. "Talk to the managment about any money you should have but haven't got yet. Either do that, stay here, or piss off. Bye now. You guys coming?" he motioned towards Doc and Rico.

Murdock nodded and stood up, following Iain. He turned around and smirked at Rico.
"A new beginning," He said, he then looked at Slash, his face grew grim and serious, he nodded and continued on.

Rico stood up, and smiled sweetly at Slash. He threw a $5 bill down on the bar and walked away from the guitarist.

"The next round's on me."

ooc: finally we got some justification why the guys name is "slash". And we're really pushing it a bit far, but it still could be the instant fame rushing through the heads, everyone thinking he's the most important. It wouldn't be the first band that split up because of that

IC:
Streif and Shep were dropped off at the bar where they saw Rico sitting earlier. Rico was not exactly hard to miss or anything. But now he had left, probably with the other guys. Shep was really clear since he went out of the hospital. Glancing across th bar he saw that only Slash remained. Shep's face and head started to hurt again when he saw him. "Streif," he said calmly for Slash not to hear him, "do what you want to do, but I do not want to spend another minute in a room with this psycho." He pointing to Slash. Streif noticed him too and got a sour look on his face. "I'm going back to the venue. You know, clean up and see that our gear is packed properly and everything."

Shep walked outside and to the venue. He found that Chopper packed most of the stuff already. Thank God, my head wouldn't survive heavy lifting right now. He went through all the dressing rooms and cleaned up a bit. As he found Paul McCartney guitar still laying broken on the ground he put it in a flightcase too. Fixing guitars was something he knew better then playing it. It'll be a great asset to my collection. Chopper waited in the truck and silently they drove back to the rehearsal room. They locked up and went home. A good nights sleep was what he needed.

((OOC: Jesus! I leave you alone for two days and this is what happens! This is a rock band, and you're all beating each other up. Crazy kids...))

(OOC- why does my character have to be the bad guy when he doesent do anything bad :( does anyone even read what I wrote and Gawdly you kind of beated up Paul Macartney and I think the cops would want you for that)

Streif met up with Shep, Eric and Neil. " Shep I got some bad news I hear the band is breaking up, well they wanted to break up from the start it looks like because those guys mostly always act like f*cking jackasses. They arent open minded at all.The one I least minded was Murdock and for some reason Iain is such a conformist that he said that he hated me so he could join the new group. Well what should we do everybody.............."

TO BE CONTINUED

(OOC: Actually Rico never touched Paul, Paul just feinted, and I myself never had a thing against you, but my character does kinda, you are kinda taking charge over the band)

OOC: Conform. Everyone else is doing it.

(OOC- oh well I thought you did Gawdly, and I couldnt agree more Generic Empire, this is not turning out what I think we all thought it would be it seems kind of like its just about one day in the bands life that everything changed....I love it! Great idea for a movie)

THE CONTINUED PART

And so it had been decided, the supergroup had been. The Supergroup was going to be Streif playing harmonica and guitar and singing. Neil Young was oging to play keyboard and sing. Eric Clapton was also going to play guitar and sometimes sing. They called Paul at the hospital and they had something else agreed. Paul Macartney was going to play bass and sing.

They only needed one more person. They asked the question. "Shep would you like to be our drummer? If you dont know how we could get some of the best teachers for you and I heard you practicing on the drums the other day. You were good. You got a natural sense for beat. So would you?" Streif asked.

OOC: Reformed North: This is WAY over the top. Can't we form a band with people who actually RP and not actual guys we put in the story? We got this other roadie Chopper who plays the guitar. There are 3 guitarists in the band, surely they could miss one (not slash :p). That brings us to 4. That would be enough. Maybe some other guys could join this topic too.

IC:
Shep falls on his knees. He starts bowing and screaming.
"I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy, I'm scum, I suck"

<<OOC: REFORMED NORTH: Please don't assume things when you RP - example, how did YOU know that the band was splitting? Only Rico, Doc and Iain know at this point, they haven't even come back to the dressing room yet.

GENERAL COMMENT: I was actually hesitant to join this RP, until I saw Techon, who I know and respect as an RPer. When I joined this, I didn't expect to be playing with a guy who thinks he is "Kill Bill Volume 3", and I didn't expect to see Clapton, Young and McCartney in my dressing room. This RP took a very weird turn there, and some of us had to adjust.

Now...where can this go? Lots of places (as long as you get rid of sword-fighting and superstars.) Two bands, formerly one band, competing in a Battle of the Bands? Or they go on the road together, and one opens for the other - jealousy! Anger! Resentment! Management suing the new band? Iain (I think) is gravely ill...angst! Pathos! Rico is secretly in love with Murdoch! (NOT, but you get the idea...) - Oh, and if the new bands need new members, you RP auditions!

What I don't want to be doing here is spending all my time swearing and having sex.

Or swordfighting.

OOC: totally agree. We have to NOT do some of the things we do now. Cursing: OK, Having sex: within reason (and we don't want to know details :p), Swordfighting: nah, Celeberties: only "cameo's", Band splitting up: sure, but the RP must be able to keep on going no matter what.

I don't know who runs this RP, but maybe he/she could keep things in control some times. Telling what can and cannot be done, deciding to start a new chapter (The gig is over: go home!) and drawing up bigger pictures (narration in between the chapter for instance) to which we'll have to conform.

If I'm wrong please tell me, I'm relatively new to RP-ing, but I do know this is getting slightly out of hand.

<<Legless: Shep is doing fine, and so are you. I agree that SOME control might be nice...>>

Slash got up, after hours of doing jack. He'd gived away the drinks to some other dudes, and that was it. He jsut sat there, his long black hair hiding his face. He sat there until 4 A.M., until he left. The barman had gone to bed, but left the door unlocked for him to leave.

Slash walked out into the early morning. It sucked. Everything did.

"Christ...what have I become?" Slash asked himself. A Swordless psycho! his mind replied. It was right as well. And jesus, to think, that just two years ago, he'd met Murdock at Martizar, the international boarding school. Things had been good back then, before the band. No, things were good, until after the band. He'd liked everyone to some degree, even Rico.

What would any honourable Serpantian do...? Aha! Regain their honour, or do what's right.

And he knew what he'd need to do. He'd need to hu...find the guys, one at a time, and apologise, then things would take it's course.

But first, I need to get rid of my psycho attitude...

And so, Slash took off the thing he had once cherished so much, adn threw it into a dumpster. The crunching of the garbage under the sword made Slash grit his teeth. But, he swallowed his sadness down, and walked back to their venue.

Slash entered the dressing room...

OOC: I'm hoping someone's there. If not, there should be some clue of where they've gone...

Shep couldn't sleep. His head hurt and banged as if a in there a truck was being run down by a stampede of elephants with metal shoes. He searched his room and found some asprin and some wodka to wash it down. It was not the best idea, considdering he just was in a hospital, but it was the best he could do. Looking around he could not find much to do. His clock told him it was 3:27 AM. He stepped outside and walked to the rehearsal room a few blocks away. The air was a pleasant relief of the stink in the room. Clearing his head of the pain and the thoughts.

Arriving at the rehearsal room he opened the truck and picked out Paul McCartney's broken guitar. He picked from a wallcupboard the neccesary tools and put it all down in the middle of the room. His focus was far from optimal, but it would do. He searched the fridge for a couple of beers. It was these quiet nights that he found very nice, something different of the everyday hectic life in the city. If only the band would forgive eachother. This was his last thought before putting all his attention in the guitar that was too expensive for him not to fix it.

"Hello?" Slash called. He looked around, drank a beer, and sighed. Nobody around here. There was the rehersal room a few blocks away...

Slash stepped out into the night, and took a deep breath. He doubted anyone would be in, but he just...had this feeling. He shook it off. But he would investigate, and probably play a few tracks to help, if no-one was in...

Slash unslung his guitar. He grunted, looked around, and then opened the door...

((OOC: As this RP is no longer cool, and because I have developed a strong dislike for the drummer and frontman, who seem like absolute jerks that have problems with people for no reason, and want to form their own band for personal fame, I will no longer be participating.))

OOC: Generic! Nooooo! Oh god, this means the RP's gonna die. Damn...

((OOC: As this RP is no longer cool, and because I have developed a strong dislike for the drummer and frontman, who seem like absolute jerks that have problems with people for no reason, and want to form their own band for personal fame, I will no longer be participating.))

<<OOC: No offense...most of the participants have reacted to other posts. Weird shit happened from the beginning, and we had to deal with it. You have not been here to "guide" this beast, so it took it's own direction. Right now, things ARE getting interesting, and in fact, Slash and I were about to do some male bonding...(I was going to be in the rehearsal hall when he came in...we would have had a heart-to-heart (unless he attacked me of course) and then we would have been buds, and maybe even save the band!

Generic, you started the concept but then did nothing with it...at least the rest of us have been TRYING to do something with it. So...go away if you must, but don't blame others for your own shortcomings.>>>

OOC: NOOOOO, don't go man. I'm stoned right now and I really need to get some sleep but I stil check out your RP because I find it rather interesting. You're tearing the band apart!! We'll be nice from now on :D

Typo's made : 23
Yeah pretty good

See you tomorrow

((OOC: Since this was my baby, and because the stoned guy wants me to, I guess i'll stay. Just please, for the love of God, lose the katana, and no more beating up Paul McCartney!))

Rico had already said goodnight to Murdock and Iain, but the big drummer was still feeling buzzed, and very much awake. He decided to go by the rehearsal space and chill out, maybe playing a little guitar and working on his own songs. None of the band even suspected that Rico enjoyed creating music...they always considered him the big, dumb one. He liked it that way.

It was just after 4 in the morning when Rico arrived. He lit a joint, drawing deeply on the pungent weed. Tossing his leather coat on an old sofa, he walked over to the wall of guitars...he picked up an acoustic, and sat down on a stool near the back of the room. He had just started to play when the door cracked open, and Slash walked in. Rico was dismayed, not wanting to get back into the crap that already ruined the evening.

"Slash. Looks like we both had the same urge. Toke?" said Rico, offering Slash the joint.

OOC: YAY

IC:
Shep walked back in the rehearsal room. He fell asleep on the toilet, as he had done so many times before. This time he woke up from some voices. To his surprise Slash and Rico were there. They were even talking. Confused Shep stood in the hallway. Hesitantly he opened the door. His words flowed out of his still sleepy mouth. "'Hi guys..."

(OOC- hey Im only going overboard because the band is going to split, and if you remember Streif popped into the bar when you guys were talking and overheard about the leaving)

Streif sat on his bed and was thinking deeply to himself. " the press knows about the breaking up already, I dont think Ill be able to go through this supergroup. I think I have to make the call." he sayed to himself. He took out his cell phone called Eric, Neil and paul and sayed he was calling it quits. "what if, what if?" he thought to himself. He quikly got out his phone and called the members of his band.

Tommy Amsterdam had had his fill. Rico and Doc were killing him, and killing the band. As he leaned back on a couch in his freshly purchased apartment, he began to consider new options. It was obvious that El Grande Tank was dying. They probably would not last another gig togethor. He was already an excellent guitarist, he had material, and he had a following. He could start a new band without much trouble.

He leaned forward, stroking his chin as he eyed the Les Paul that lay casually on the floor. He reached over to the table next to him. He picked up a pack of cigarettes, and his lighter. He put one in his mouth, and flicked the igniter. He exhaled deeply as he sank back into the couch. A new band. That was it.

OOC: YAY

IC:
Shep walked back in the rehearsal room. He fell asleep on the toilet, as he had done so many times before. This time he woke up from some voices. To his surprise Slash and Rico were there. They were even talking. Confused Shep stood in the hallway. Hesitantly he opened the door. His words flowed out of his still sleepy mouth. "'Hi guys..."

"Hey Shep, wassup? You OK, bro? You look a little pale." then again, he always looks pale, thought Rico. He took another puff of his joint, and looked back at Slash, who was still standing in the open door.

"Well, I guess this is a party then. Who wants to jam? No bullshit, no agendas...just jammin'."

(OOC: The only reason Doc acted like a jerk to Tommy was cause he said that Doc's songs were shit and they were to do what the harmonica player said they should do :p)

Doc rode back to the building, he hopped out of his car and walked in.
He walked over to a table where a lone man sat, Tommy.
"Listen dude," He said, looking at the ground slightly. "Sorry for being a jerk and an asshole, your right this isn't my band. I should let the whole group decide what they want to do. I am sorry."

Slash laughed.

"Sounds great. Is there a fridge here, or shall I go back to the venue and pick up a few six packs?" he asked.

Rico was happy to see that Slash didn't seem to be looking to continue their disagreement of earlier. He reached down and pulled a can of Heinekin from the cooler beside him. With a quick motion, he tossed it to the guitarist, who caught it effortlessly. Rico was surprised at Slash's speed.

"Nah, we're plenty stocked on the brew...and I have a few smokers left too!" Rico replied. He started to strum "Stairway to Heaven" on the acoustic, a song he felt was appropriate for the moment. He looked at Shep, then Slash, then back down to the strings.

"It makes me sad when life gets in the way of music."

"Yeh..." Slash agreed. Dumping his bag in a corner, he got his guitar out, and started to join in with Rico, using Electric Mode on his guitar.

(OOC: sry about the delay internet was down for a few days)

the sound was too much for Sam. Genius needs his quite! Ah well such is the life of the keyboardist. Second banana, always. perhaps one day we'll be famous enough so that I can start a solo gig and perpetuate rumor that the band is breaking up as well as deny them at the same, but until then, De-op Dop dep beep bop weeeeeeee! Chang Chang-chang Doooowwwwn!

Slash and Rico getting along? Shep was confused, as he remembered waking up from the toilet. He was not still dreaming, but however unreal it seemed it was for the better. As Rico started to play Stairway and Slash joined in, Shep started singing quietly, his voice still sleepy.

A strange night this had turned out to be.

It was...magic. The music flowed, the intricate Slash stylings meshing with the steady strumming of Rico, and the surprisingly melodic voice of Shep. They let the song take them, and all three stood for the power finish.

"...and as we wander down the road..."

Slash and Rico actually smiled at each other, playing off of each other, and Shep sounded like Robert Plant at his best.

"..and if you listen very hard..."

Rico's fingers were starting to burn, the quick chord changes and hard strumming taking their toll on his fingers. It didn't matter though, because he had to keep up with Slash, who sounded like a wall of guitars.

"...to be a rock, and not to rollll..."

They brought the song to it's tender end, and stood, looking at each other. They had shared a moment, a moment that clarified why their manager had brought them together. "El Grande Tanke" was the sum of all its parts.

"...and she's buying a Stairway...to Heaven..."

They let the end of the song lead to a minute of silence.

"Wow." said Rico, simply and honestly.

"We rock."

"Indeed we do." Slash agreed.

It could have been the booze and pot, or the fact it was after 4 in the morning, or because they just shared a memorable moment together. Whatever the case, Rico was feeling concilatory.

"Dude...Slash: listen, I'm sorry for being an asshole recently...we just didn't start out on the right foot, I guess." He looked over at Shep who was staring at both of them, not believing what he was seeing. Rico smiled at the roadie, and turned back to the guitarist.

"I'd like to start over, man. It'll be easier when we go on tour in a few weeks if we aren't trying to kill each other..." Rico smiled at Slash, the humor masking the near reality. Rico had pushed Slash's buttons, and the boy DID know how to use that big pig-sticker he always carried with him...hopefully, that was the past. Rico tossed a beer to Slash and to Shep, and took one for himself. He raised the frosty can in the air and proposed a toast.

"To new friends, and new beginnings. Now, what say we call up some of the "fan-club" and see if we can get this party in gear!"

"Hell Yeah!" Slash agreed, he rose his frothing beer can into the air.

"I'll drink to that" said Shep and drank.

OOC: sorry, don't have much time today

Iain had wandered around the streets again after saying goodbye to Murdock and Rico. He began to feel bad. Yes, he'd been angry. What he'd said had been true; he was tired of meaningless covers. But he didn't really want to break up the band. In truth, he was scared about the future of the whole thing. What if it didn't work out? What if we just fail?, he thought, as he twisted his way through the more or less empty streets. He stopped and looked up at the sky above, the stars twinkling around, and the moon full and beaming forth. He sat down on the pavement, drawing his knees to his chest. He'd been way too angry, and some things had been said that he really didn't mean... at Verd, at Slash, probably at more if his rage had lasted longer. But walking about had cooled him off slightly, and he realised that a fractured, bitter breakup was not the way to go. He sighed and looked up. He'd walked over to where they rehearsed. Well, that's a good coincidence, at least.

He walked over, went in, and stuck his head around the door where they usually rehearsed. Slash, Rico, and Shep were there - it seemed that Slash and Rico were tolerating each other, seeing as there wasn't anyone's fingers on the floor. He grinned sheepishly as he wandered in.

"Having a good time?"

Streif went over and sat beside Tommy and Murdock "I dont understand it either, we were such a young band. Maybe we could have a reunion, one more gig, you guys know what I'm saying? We could talk to everyone else but they probaly wouldnt listen, too high to listen. What the f*ck are they thinking anyways to do sh*t like that. Theyll kill themselves before theyre able to become big in their little band. This f*cking blows."

"Hey f*cktard I am right here," Murdock said looking at Streif.

Sam, walked in, after watching 'Casablanca' for the millionth time he was ready to reherse. No one around him seemed to think that it took practice to hit the big time. If you just live the life of Guns and Roses or whatever you should end up like them. That was fools logic. These lazy-a**es just lied around drunk, high, or hung-over. Well, to give them credit they were here now and it looked like they wanted to reherse.

"Hey guys, I got some new bits to show you! Let's jam."

Sam made his way to the keyboard in the corner.

"Hey. I was thinking of getting a Key-tar, wadda ya think?"

"A Key-tar? That's so cheesy, it's not even funny anymore." Shep shrugs. "But come on, let's jam some more. What have you got for us Sam?"
Asking this Shep walks over to the fridge and pulls out a can of beer for each of them.

" Sorry Murdock, I wasnt talking about you, I was talking about the other guys who want to do something new. Sorry Man, I still think we should do a reunion."

After the impromptu party in the rehearsal hall, Rico headed to his apartment. He needed a few hours of sleep before the meeting tomorrow. The band would be meeting with the tour promoters and their own manager, to go over the schedule, song selection and logistics for the upcoming nationwide tour. Rico wanted to sleep NOW, so he wouldn't fall asleep in the meeting tomorrow.

After watching what had just gone down, Tommy started to reconsider. Maybe this would work out alright. He contemplated it for a few more seconds before speaking.

"Alright, Doc. If we can put this shit aside, we may just be able to have a kickass rock and roll band after all."

Tommy got up, cigarette hanging idly from his fingers.

"All right boys, who's up for a little rockin'?"

Slash watched Rico go, and shook his head, before turning to Shep.

"Hey man, Shep...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hitting you with my sword, I'm sorry I abandoned you, and I'm sorry that I hit you hard enough to make you go into the wall." Slash apologised.

"Dude, it's alright" said Shep grinning, "Just don't do it again, 'cause I don't want to kick your ass. But I really need some sleep now too. Le's follow Rico's example and call it a night." Shep looked at his watch. "I mean morning... See you tomorrow at the meeting." He left when the sun was almost rising and the city was quiet. Things just might work out after all

<<OOC: Haven't seen Georgi, our Manager, around for awhile. I vote that we talk about the tour, then hit the road. We may need a new Manager if he doesn't come back.>>

OOC: Okay...

IC: Slash shrugged as Shep left. He'd stay here. Setting his wrist watch to 'alarm' at a time Slash was happy with, Slash got out a thin fold out mattress. Unfolding it, he took his jacket off, and jumped on, the mattress barely holding it's own. With the guitar right next to him, Slash yawned, and fell into the hyperbole of sleep...

" Rocking is the only thing I think about, man" Streif sayed with a grin to Murdock and Tommy.

Sam awoke with a start. The was hit by something. Something great. He ran to his keyboard and played a scetion of Erocia oin the synth. Something great came to mind and Sam stayed up until the wee hours of the morning composing, writing and preparing for the next day.

*THE NEXT DAY*

Rico was in high spirits as he approached the offices of Journey Mangement, where the tour planning meeting was to be held. Yesterday, which had started off very strangely and filled with anger, finished with a great party and an understanding...an understanding with Slash. This was a good thing, thought Rico, because now the band could focus on the future, instead of going to war with each other. He hoped Doc and Iain wouldn't be too disappointed by Rico's change of heart.

He was still early, so he lit a small cigar and sipped his double-mocha takeout, watching the little people scurry around in their daily tasks. He was happy to be a musician, and to be where he was with his career. At least he didn't have to worry about a 9-5, minimum wage, paper-pusher life...nah, rock n' roll was the only job he would ever have.

*NEXT DAY*

Slash walked down the road, guitar slung over his back, his pack over it. Grinning, he saw the offices of Journey Management up ahead, and a figure standing by the offices. Stifling a yawn, Slash walked over, and then realised who the figure was: Rico. Grinning, he waked up to Rico, and gave him a hard pat on the shoulder.

"Hey man, what you doin' out here?" Slash asked.

"Recovering slowly from last night..." said Rico, returning Slash's smile. He looked up and down the street, and so no other members of the band. Pointing towards the door of the office building, he spoke to Slash.

"Well, I guess we can head up and get to the free food before the others show..."

"Sounds good." Slash concured. Rolling his shoulders, Slash followed Rico inside...

The office was empty, except for the slightly used secretary at the front desk. After announcing themselves, Rico and Slash were led to the conference room and left alone. The drummer and guitarist looked at each other, obviously uncomfortable in these corporate surroundings. On the walls were articles, press releases and gold records of other bands that were repped by the management group.

"One day, dude...that will be us..." Rico said, pointing at a picture of a fairly famous band, accepting their Grammy award.

He looked at his watch as he prepared a cup of coffee, wondering where the rest of the band was. Probably still sleeping, the big drummer mused.

Streif got up fairly tired. He got up, got dressed and brushed his teeth. He sat on his bed wondering what was going to happen.
He smiled and looked under his bed and took out a guitar case. In the case he took out an acoustic guitar. On the shelf beside him was his harmonica. He put the harmonica to his mouth and started playing the guitar. He hadnt played in a while that's for sure. He sang to it too. He was improvising his own blues riff. "I got to right this down" he sayed to himself. He couldnt beleive what he was doing.

An idea hit him. When he was a kid, he bought a machine that records what you play which he had in his room and he also still had a keyboard in his room.

First, he shot up some heroin then he started playing the keyboard. He played in a psychedelic tone and on the keyboard theyre was a feature that you can record so it can play itself while you are playing another instrument.He recorded that on his keyboard feature.

He turned his recording machine on and recorded the guitar, singing and harmonica and while he was playing those instruments the keyboard was playing what he had played before.

For the beat he used a scynthetic beat that was on the keyboard.

He took another shot of heroin. He listened to the recording over and over, and he realised how good it was. "I better show this to the guys later" he sayed to himself with his british acent.

Streif lay on his bed and laughed. He saw the colours move around his face. He blacked out. Streif had had an overdose.

His fingers drummed impatiently on the table as he watched the clock on the boardroom wall. Rico fumed silently, wondering where the rest of the band was. This meeting was huge, and the last one before heading out on tour. He had called Murdock's phone, leaving a message when the voice-mail kicked in. He lit another cigar, and looked at Slash, who was making a few calls of his own. How strange is that thought the big drummer, yesterday we were ready to kill each other, and today...well, me n' Slash ARE the band!

Rico turned at the sound of the door opening, hoping to see a friendly face. Instead, the plastic smile of the receptionist greeted him.

"Mr.Amico just called, he's running a little late today...he should be here in fifteen minutes or so...help yourself to more coffee and donuts!"

Murdock walked into the room, he had just gotten back from his getaway. He was now ready for buisness again.

"Bye..." Kartion finished, slapping down the antenna to his phone. Pocketing it, he stopped Rico.

"I'll get the stuff, just sit tight for a few seconds mate." Slash said. Getting up, he walked through the doors into the mini café next door...

A few minutes later, Slash went through the doors with a tray. On it were two boxes full of mini-donuts, freshly baked, and two coffees in paper cups. Slash set the tray down, and slid a box and a coffee to Rico.

"Enjoy Amigo." he said, sitting down and opening the box of donuts. Just then Murdock walked in. Slash turned around.

"Hey, there's a café next door, go and fetch something, the rest are runnin' late." Slash said, before getting back to his coffee and donuts.

"Mr.Amico just called, he's running a little late today...he should be here in fifteen minutes or so...help yourself to more coffee and donuts!"

"You tell that sonuvabitch NO DEAL!"

It was times like this that Donald Amico hated cellphones. He wanted to slam the phone down to make his point to the man on the other end, but had to settle for an unsatisfying "beep"as he cut him off. Tossing the phone onto the leather seat beside him, Amico pressed his foot down slightly, shooting the powerful car into the passing lane. He was already late for his meeting with El Grande Tanke, a band that some considered to be the next big thing. He was promoting their upcoming tour, and if things went as well as they should, Amico was prepared to offer them a record deal.

He'd tried to call their manager a number of times, Georgi Something or other, but had never gotten through to him. If he failed to show for today's meeting, Amico would use that to his advantage. If these guys were as good as he thought, they would need a professional management team like his own. He picked up his phone again, and speed-dialed his office.

"Hi Denise, it's me: I'm gonna be about 10 minutes late for my nine o'clock meeting..."

(Quote)
"Hey, there's a café next door, go and fetch something, the rest are runnin' late." Slash said, before getting back to his coffee and donuts.

At that moment, a complete stranger wearing a ska T-shirt, and carrying a copy of Madness' latest single "Waiting For the Ghost Train" interupts them.

"I just overheard youse talking about this new band of your's", he said. "How come there's no horn section in your band?", he asked.

"You've gotta have a horn section!"

"Not for a rock band mate, now get out, this is a private meeting." Slash replied, clicking his knuckles to further his point.

At that moment, a complete stranger carrying a copy of Madness' latest single "Waiting For the Ghost Train" interupts them.

"I just overheard youse talking about this new band of your's", he said. "How come there's no horn section in your band he asked?"

<<OOC: Sorry, bub...we're in a conference room of a large company in a high-rise with security...you can't just barge in off the street. Theoretically, you could work in the office, but that would be up to Anti-Doc: it's his company. Finally, you should always ask if you can join an RP in progress, instead of just popping in.>>

OOC: Yeah, but anyway Rico, let make conversation.

Streif awoke from the overdose. "F**k, I'm late!" He quikly ran outside and went on his motorcycle." sh*t, sh*t I'm going to be late!"

He ran into the building as fast as he could. He took the elevator.He ran to the office. He opened the doors to see Rico, Slash and Murdock talking." hi guys, where's everyone else?" he asked. Streif took a seat."Nice to see you all again. That sure was a long night. Got myself three hours of sleep. Well anyways, let's get started."

"Glad you could make it, dude," said Rico as Streif grabbed a seat beside him. "I don't know where the others are, but the record guy is gonna be a bit late...hopefully, Iain and the others will show before he does."

That was the problem with a band like Tanke: lots of members meant a lot of things could go wrong. The worst part was that their manager, Georgi, hadn't been seen in a few days, and this meeting was really important. The tour could lead to a record deal, and this was a golden opportunity for them all. Rico sipped his coffee, puffing on his cigar and waiting impatiently for the rest of the band.

Don Amico walked into the boardroom, his cellphone glued to his ear. Smiling briefly at the motley assortment of long-haired rockers, he walked over to the head of the long conference table, and sat down heavily. Finishing his conversation, Amico hung up and looked around at the four guys seated in front of him.

"Good morning, gentlemen...I apologise for my lateness, stinking traffic jams everywhere...now, which on of you is Georgi?" he asked, looking at the band members.

Rico spoke quickly.

"Uhm, none of us is Georgi actually. He was...called out of town unexpectedly...we'll do this without him." Rico hoped their manager would make an unexpected appearance, but he had his doubts.

"What can you tell us about the tour?" he asked, trying to stall for time. He looked at Doc, who gave him a thumbs up sign.

This was going better than he hoped already.

"Well, I can tell you alot about the tour, and some other interesting stuff, but don't you think we should wait for the rest of the band?"

Amico looked around the table, watching with amusement as the band members looked at each other. He had them right where he wanted them...confused and vulnerable.

Or so he thought. Slash looked over at Donald. Slash was probably one of the more educated members of El Grande Tank, seeing as he attended the Martizar International Boarding school. Diplomacy was something Slash hadn't failed in. Slash grinned.

"Actually Mr. Amico, I don't think we should," Slash said, putting on his home's accent (posh British, think Liquid Snake from MGS).

"They're late enough as it is, and we can inform them of what you have in mind. Oh and before you ask, we won't make any final decisions at this meeting until all of us are here. The band will debate and come to a resolution, once we've got all our members. Now, please continue Mr. Amico."

Rico looked at Slash, surprised by the eloquence and professionalism of his words...they cut sharper than his Katana! The drummer smiled, nodding his agreement with Slash.

"Actually Mr. Amico, I don't think we should," Slash said, putting on his home's accent (posh British, think Liquid Snake from MGS).

"They're late enough as it is, and we can inform them of what you have in mind. Oh and before you ask, we won't make any final decisions at this meeting until all of us are here. The band will debate and come to a resolution, once we've got all our members. Now, please continue Mr. Amico."

Amico smiled, perfect teeth shining in the morning sun. This one was going to be trouble. He opened a yellow legal file, and flipped through a few documents.

"Ah yes....Slash. You play a mean guitar, son. Rico, Murdock and Mr.Streif, right? Ok, well here's the general plan, gentlemen: This is an 6 month tour, 87 shows in 57 cities so far. We want you to do a few shows as a warm up in Canada...Montreal, Toronto, Vancouver, and a few towns in between. You have a solid fan-base up there already...them Canucks have good taste."

While he was speaking, he was passing out sheets of statistics to them, with graphs and pie charts that illustrated his words.

"At least a half-dozen of the busiest fansites on the web are Canadian, so lets take advantage of it the free word-of-mouth. Then we go down the West Coast into the good ole U.S. of A., hitting all the majors as we go...club's with 800+ seats, and we're working on getting you some opening gigs too...actually, we may do the Muse show in Montreal, as a "surprise guest". If you look on page 3 of the documents, it will show you what our bus looks like...I think you'll find it's a nice home away from home."

Amico paused, pulling out a cigarette, and lighting it with an expensive-looking lighter. He took a long puff, smiling again at the musicians.

"Any questions so far?"

"I do Mr. Amico." Slash said, while collecting all the sheets and looking through them.

Rico looked over at Slash, happy that somebody was taking control, and speaking for the band. The promoter was slick, professional and in Rico's opinion, a man to be watched. He knew that Slash had had some schooling in business, back before he joined the band, and he hoped it would be enough to protect El Grande Tanke.

"I do Mr. Amico." Slash said, while collecting all the sheets and looking through them.

"Well, go ahead, my friend...I want everything to be clear." Amico was right: Slash was going to be the one to watch.

OOC: Hey, I know this might be a bit of a long shot but is there anyway I could join in?