Guitar Strings and Dragon Wings

METAL IN EQUESTRIA : CHAPTER THREE
Packie sang softly through his nose. His voice grazed over the melody of the guitar.
"and… they walked…" he held out the last word "… through the hypocrisy… and their one god…"
Wallace broke down the drums.{*tisstiss…*bombom….*tistis…. *badda badda badda *boom}
"only wanted to fly… but…was born to die… because of… society"
The guitar wailed softly underneath Packie's voice.
{*dohdohdeeyoh… *doh-oo-oh… *dohdohdeeyoh…*dohdoh-dee}
The instruments all ended in unison. {*Juhjuh-*jeeyoh-*juhn!}
The audience wsas silent and the band was could barely stand the sweltering heat. Beads of sweat ran down their head. None of them moved for a few seconds. Then Packie walked up to the microphone in two steps. "This is the part where you fuckers clap for us, because it's hot up here."
The audience burst into applause. Some of them started to stand up. One klutz knocked the wine glass off his table, but he clapped anyway. Wallace laid his head down on the snare, face down. He thought to himself. All out of coffee. Need more.
The crowd slowly filed out of the club. It was about 2:30 in the morning.
"I want to thank you guys. That was some good shit you played. Who was it by anyways?"
Packie was putting away his ESP back into the case. He laid it down, shut it and hit all the latches. He picked up his head and turned to the club owner, and he was not amused.
"That was all our own shit man. WE came up with all of those songs."His eyes flared like fireballs as he was the one most responsible for coming up with the music. Packie had put a great deal of time and effort into each song.
"Calm down man." said the owner. "It was just so good and I was wondering why you're not famous yet, y'know?
"Yeah I getchya…" he picked up his case and proceeded out the back exit to their van. He passed by Jiggs who was coming back in to collect payment. Jiggs was soaked in his fluids and had a lit cigarette in his left hand. It was burnt out and he threw it out the door as he came in.
The owner was wearing a black suit and red tie, and it seemed the heat of the club was getting to him. His oily black hair was parted down the center with a bit of a curl near his forehead. He was clean shaven and had stern features.
"Okay, Clark Kent…" Jiggs smirked at his own joke "…what do ya got for us. We sucked pretty bad didn't we?" he had an air of sarcasm in his tone.
"How's about eight grand? Sound good?"
"Nah man, that covers only the equipment I paid for... gimme a little more."
"How's ten then? That should be more than enough…" the owner grumbled at his offer. "These folks paid good money to see you and-"
"and nothing." Jiggs interrupted. "This entire theatre paid to see some good bands. Top dollar, too. And the bands should get a slice as well, especially the best one." He smirked at the eel's voice he had been given. Jiggs knew how to sweet talk just about anyone, but he knew what they deserved. "Ten grand will do just dandy, handsome man."
The owner grumbled again as he took out the wad of hundred's kept in his left coat pocket. He started counting out loud as he laid the money in Jiggs' sweaty palm.
Outside, Packie and Wallace were loading up the van. It was large and blue and somewhat rusted on the door handles.
It reminded Wallace of the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Doo that he watched as a kid. "That show fuckin rocked…" he mumbled to himself.
Packie lugged his black case around to the back of the van where the two doors were flung wide open. They were in an alleyway behind the club. Only a few weak orange lights illuminated the alley. There were a few puddles of water because it had rained earlier the day before. There was steam coming out of a vent in the pavement and a homeless man stood next to it, but he minded his own business. It was early September and a little chilly. These were the early signs of another brutal Chicago winter.
Packie laid his case next to the coffee maker in the back, which sat on top of Jiggs' bass guitar. Wallace hopped out of the passenger side door and came around to Packie who was trying to make room. The beads of sweat that ran down their head had disappeared in the cool night air. Their breaths became visible in front of them, like smoke from Jiggs' Marlboros. Now all three of the band were wearing light jackets because of the Chicago weather.
"Lay it right here man" Wallace coerced, "it doesn't really matter anyway."
Packie stood back from the van and looked up. "Damn, those stars are phenomenal. Check that shit out."
Wallace stood back and followed suit. "Yeah, that's pretty…gay."
"Man… shut the fuck up!" Packie tapped Wallace on the shoulder but still had his head up. "Think I should drive? I'm not sure Jiggs sweat out the booze yet."
"Yah, ya probably should. You drank mostly pop anyways, ya lightweight."
"Well that fat-ass was sweating gallon jugs. He might be good to go after gettin' paid, too.
"Yeah, good point."
The two got in the sides of the van. Wallace had shotgun while Packie sat in the back with the merchandise.
"Turn on the damn heat, man. It's cold." Packie complained. He rubbed his blond hair as though it were nearly frozen, even though he was just overreacting.
Wallace turned the key and the van came to life. The engine moaned before settling down to a nice even tempo. He turned his head out the window and saw Jiggs walking out alone, shutting the large steel doors behind him. It immediately locked when it shut, with a loud *Clank!
Jiggs had on a brown coat and glasses, which he needed to drive. He looked down the orange alleyway and saw only puddles and the reflecting orbs in them from the streetlights. The homeless man by the steaming vent was gone. He walked around the front of the blue van and opened the driver's door, wasting little time to get inside the warm car. The engine sputtered when he shut the door.
Packie was curious. "Yo, man… how much bank did we make?"
Jiggs rubbed his goatee as he looked at the gauges on the dashboard. "Five hundred for all of us, with an extra twenty for you, Pack. You did the most out of all of us. I need the rest of this because I paid for the amps and shit."
Wallace seemed a little shaken. "Dude what the fuck? That had to be like ten grand we made."
"Exactly… but all the shit I bought cost about that much. We played a good show and the amps paid for themselves. The first few shows are always a bump. We'll be makin' good on the next one because we already have the amps and talent. Those were nice drums I got you, right?"
"Yah, I guess…" Wallace was slightly depressed now. "… let's… just go back to your place."
"Yeah, you need your beauty sleep, Jiggs…" Packie laughed silently "… to keep your girlish figure."
"Shut the fuck up, man." Jiggs shifted into drive and slowly accelerated out of the alleyway. The van sputtered again. "What the hell is going on?"
There came a great crash of lightning and the car suddenly jerked forward. A great white hole opened in front of them. Sparks of electrified air flew out from the edges. All of them panicked and the car kept going faster.
"It won't stop…" Jiggs sounded afraid.
"IT'S THE SUN!" Packie yelled.
"NO IT'S NOT DUMBASS! IT'S A HOLE!" Wallace yelled back.
"THAT'S WHAT SHEEEEE SAIIIIIDDDDDD!" Packie yelled back in retaliation.
The tires started to give way to the force and the vehicle was lifted from the pavement. It was the last thing they heard before the van slipped through the hole and they all lost consciousness.