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CHAPTER 46 “And I’ll take your bloodstained hand in mine, I’ll taste your rust; I’ll taste your lust. I’ll let you become a sacrifice, torn to pieces for the amorous god. Die for me, my broken baby. Die for me, my broken love. “Years now have past since my final mistake. You’re weeping, you’re wanting and needing to be free. Oh, baby, be me sacrifice. Trade yourself up for me. Die for me, my broken baby. Die for me, my broken love.” In front of his first American audience, Elvyn bowed deeply, his long black hair brushing against the floor of the stage. This was before the sounds of the bass and keyboard had even faded, before the lighters in the large crowd had gone out. He stood up straight again, fighting the smile that was threatening, even though no one in the crowd could possibly see it. “Thank you for listening to us! The glorious Kim Kissably and her Red Lips Sextet should be on stage after a short intermission.” The lights went down, and Xavier was the first one off stage. Chatha threw herself at him, babbling about how she’d listened to the whole set and hadn’t actually heard anything except the bass, ‘cause she couldn’t stop thinking about him and he was just so bloody cool. Then she tried to calm herself by taking a deep breath, but only ended up going into a babble that was completely incoherent. Xavier grinned and held the pink grrl by the shoulders. “Breathe. Slow down. Repeat.” Speaking as slowly as she could, though speeding up once she got into it, Chatha repeated her babble (or at least a variant thereof). “Kim said tha’ sh’ wants t’ do this ‘ole weird segue thin’ from band t’ band. Sh’ also wants t’ test ou’ th’ audience’r somethin’ like tha’, an’ sh’ wan’s m’ t’ go ou’ there an’ do th’ drum machines rant from th’ weddin’! So sh’ wants you t’ do th’ bass fr i’ an’ everythin’! Will you? Please? Oh, please, please, please? It’d be s’great if y’ would...” Xavier looked around to see if he could spot Kim. When he did, she nodded, reassuring him that Chatha wasn’t just making this up. “Well, I see absolutely no problem with it. Let’s have a go.” “Can w’ do i’ nah? Y’know, while i’s intermission an’ ahl s’ there won’ be as many people ou’ there, jus’ so ah don’ ge’ nervous or anythin’, y’know? Then when ah’m done, th’ band can come on ‘cause th’ intermission’l be done, an’ i’ll be awright an’ everythin’.” Casting another look at Kim to make sure he wasn’t about to do anything that would get himself castrated, Xavier nodded. “Let’s have at it.” Chatha grinned and dragged him onto the stage, where she stood in the darkness for a while before the techies were told what was going on and a spotlight appeared in front of one of the mics. She walked up to it, shaking and rather unsure, especially when she heard the round of applause and whistles, cheers and screams coming from the audience upon recognizing her. She shook her head, ready to turn right back around and join the rest of the grrls for the intermission, but Xavier took her by the arm and led her right up to the microphone. As she stood there speechless and more than a bit scared, he leaned in toward the mic. “For those of you out there who don’t know, this is Chatha Darling. Now, she’s got more than just a great bod, a fetish for pink, and saxophone playing skills. She’s also quite the performer, with original ideas and biting social commentary.” He smiled, relieved to hear a giggle coming from Chatha. “So let’s hear it for Chatha Darling, playing alongside the humble bassist of Wasted Assmunches--” Chatha giggled again, but it was difficult to hear over the crowd’s laughter this time. “Uh, yeah, by that, I suppose I meant Wasted Assumption. My own bloody band, huh? Anyway, Chatha Darling and Xavier Holt, playing for the first time on American ground, a song entitled simply... Drum Machines.” He withdrew from the spotlight, leaving Chatha standing at the mic alone. She would have kept on staring out at the audience and saying nothing if Xavier didn’t start playing a bassline she recognized. Only vaguely, as she had been quite piss drunk when she heard it last, but she still smiled and took a step toward the microphone. “Listen up, America! Ah’m ‘ere doin’ a goth song tha’ ah did a’ m’ best friend’s weddin’, an’ she’s a goth an’ ‘e’s a goth, y’know. An’ i’s called Drum Machines!” She took a breath, not happy with how she had said that, so of course she had to repeat it with more emphasis. “Drrrrrrrrr-um machines!” She, of course, had no clue what she was supposed to be saying, considering that she barely remembered any of Ebony and Raine’s wedding reception. There had been something about d-words. A whole lot of making fun of goths, but that was because of Elf-boy and Aqua-man being so snotty. “Ah’m standin’ ‘ere, a grrl in pink, a boy in black a’ my side. Ah guess ah’m done wi’ teenage angst, considerin’ ah’m barely a teen anymore. When y’ ‘ear rock an’ punk an’ goth an’ stuff, y’re lis’nin’ fr ahl th’ same things. Y’ want yer destruction! Y’ want yer despair! Y’ want yer violence an’ pain an’ damnation and other things ending in d-words. “Drrrrrr-um machines! “Y’ wan’ me t’ say ‘down wi’ th’ flowers an’ down wi’ th’ pink in m’ hair’. Y’ wan’ me t’ say things tha’ everyone else has said afore. Y’ don’ wan’ m’ dreams or deities, m’ own ambitions an’ views an’ beliefs, y’ jus’ wan’ m’ dissonant saxy noises. Dissonance an’ drainage an’ dull li’l despair, an’ other things endin’ in d-words. “Drrrrrrrrr-um machines! “Ah’m unlikely, unknown an’ depthless, an’ other thing’s endin’ wi’ d-words. More an’ more an’ more an’ more d-words, rainin’ d-words, ‘cause tha’s wha’ yer ahl here t’ ‘ear. “Drrrrr-um machines! “Despair an’ demise an’ dreary things tha’ y’ll only find in bad goth poetry, ranting an’ demented and dyin’ an’ all tha’, all those things endin’ wi’ d-words. “Drrrrrrr-um machines!” Realizing she was out of things to say, she shot a quick look at Xavier. He changed the chord structure, did a bit of a solo, then they both shouted “drrrrrrrr-um machines!” together, and the song was done. The audience was quite silent for a bit, the whole strange thing still sinking in. Then a wild roar went up, and Chatha blushed and ran for Xavier, who held her as the lights went down. He told her he had to go into the back with the rest of his band, since her band was coming on stage. She hesitantly let him go, then Kim came on stage and gave Chatha a huge hug. “Rockin’, darlin’. A grrl could never ask for a better sax player.” This, of course, left Chatha grinning for most of the rest of the show. *** “You American things with pricks all think you’re so much better than the grrls wandering amongst you, hm? Have you ever once had a female president? Nah. Even us stodgy ol’ Brits have our jaunts with the dragon lady as our prime minister. Now, believe me, she is a scary woman. But at least she’s female, righ’? “I’ve been here no more than a bloody day, and I’ve already been sickened by the things I see. The girls are turning themselves into sluts, posing and simpering for the mindless male masses. So perhaps Hollywood wasn’t the best bloody place to land if I wanted to see fair treatment and equality, but bloody hell! “Try to get just one thing through your thick bloody skulls. You don’t own any of us! Women are free spirits! You wanna’ know about ownership, huh, boy? You wanna’ be down on your hands and knees, licking your own shit off my boots? A physical reminder of your emotional treatment of women through the ages. Well, we aren’t standing for it anymore! None of us here will be owned or held back by any damn thing with a prick! If he’s not going to brighten our day, like Xavier does for Chatha Darling, or lift us up and complete us, like Raine does for Ebony Darkness, he’s not to be in our lives!” Kim stretched her arms above her head. “I can tell you that I’m not going to be sleeping with anything male again until I know that he’s the one; that he’s the last. There have been too many wasted moments and too many strained relationships.” She glanced at Jessie, but barely. “It’s not worth my time to be used by some possessive little thing with barely a prick to their name. Because, after all, when a guy’s all on about himself, you know that’s not the case. Right, grrls?” A wave of cheering voices came at her. “That’s right! Everything these things with pricks think of themselves... It’s really...” She took a breath. “On the contrary!” The instruments kicked in. “If y’ think you’re so strong, if y’ think you’re so smart, I’ve gotta’ let you know something to the contrary...” She grinned, feeling energized. So what if it was Americans in front of her? She could still work with it. “There are so many ways to be full of yourself. ‘Course that’s mostly means the truth is to the contrary.” Jessie and Elke joined in their voices for a line. “On the contrary--” “I am not who you think I am!” “On the contrary--” “You can never hope to classify me!” “On the contrary--” “I’m changing everyday!” “On the contrary--” “I am not you!” *** Halfway through the show, after performing Darkling Asking, knowing full well that Elvyn was watching her from back stage, Kim decided it was time to educate this American audience again. “Darlin’?” Chatha perked up, and ran to the nearest microphone. “Yeh?” “What was your song about again, luv?” “Uh... Drum machines?” “C’mon, darlin’.” “I’ was about... Th’ ‘ole image thing. Things people expect’r somethin’. Y’know.” Kim smiled. “Thank you, darlin’. Yes, death, destruction, doom-n-gloom, dreary lives and deaths, and of course, other things ending in d-words. That came about when our darlin’ pink grrl was piss drunk at Ebony and Raine’s wedding. She didn’t much like two of the boys from the band who opened for us tonight. Now, I can understand that completely. Why? Because I hate gothlings and sophisti-goths.” She could imagine Elvyn, back stage, letting out a broken-hearted gasp. That made her smile more. “Gothlings and sophisti-goths aren’t even really goths. Do you want to see a real goth?” She took the mic out of the stand. “I’ll show you a real goth, awright? Two of ‘em, to be precise.” She started walking toward the edge of the stage, where she found Raine lingering at the curtains, precisely where he had been standing when Ebony kissed him goodbye for the extent of the show. Without another word, she dragged Raine on stage, and motioned for Ebony to come out from behind her keyboard. Raine looked a little shocked, but he recovered when Ebony came up beside him and slipped her hand into his. Kim gestured at them, letting the audience take in the image for a moment. “This is Ebony and Raine. So in love, they are the same person. So devoted to each other, I swear they have the same blood in their veins. Now, I admit, when I met Ebony... She was a gothling.” She held back a smile, feeling the dirty look without having to turn around. “Back then, she was a 17-year-old who spent her time locked in the darkness in her pink and frilly room, threatening suicide. But you know what the problem with gothlings is? They just won’t bloody die! They’re all out trying to fill an image, but I don’t understand where they get the image of suicide and other such ‘dreary’ things. Whereas sophisiti-goths, with their flowery language and out-dated modes of behavior, which are all enacted wrong anyway, should just bloody well be shot! Put them out of our misery.” Waiting a moment to make sure neither Raine nor Ebony would bite her head off, she directed them to come closer to the edge of the stage. “Now, let me tell you about the happy couple. Yes, that’s right, the happy couple. Not the dreary gothic lifemates. They’re married an’ all, with a very intense ceremony, and a very drunken party afterwards. Hundreds of people wearing black, and more then enough alcohol to go around. I’m not sure if it was a wedding or an Irish wake.” Ebony shook her head, and motioned for Kim to hand her the mic. When she had it, she spoke. “There would have been much more colour at an Irish wake, dear Kissably.” At that, she handed the mic back. “Too true, too true. Now, another thing to realize about this happily wed and still rather morbid couple in front of me is that they’re starting they’re own clothes line. Angelic Darkness. Fitting for both of them; fitting for any true goth. So let’s talk about that, shall we? I know, I know, I’m just a punk grrl icon slowly fading into softer, easier shit, but I do know my way around goth. I have, after all, fucked the man that most people think is one of the main symbols of the entire lifestyle.” Raine, knowing Kim’s inclusion of them was over, led Ebony back to her place at the keyboard, where he stood with her for a while, sharing secret smiles and whispered words. “So first lesson in what’s goth and what’s not, my dear American audience. Andrew Eldritch is not goth! Sure, he’s cold and dangerous, a very smooth talker and quite intelligent, and he’s quite the arsehole when he wants to be, and oh, does the man ever do leather justice... But...” She held her hand up. “I swear by all the gods, living and dead, that he would kick your pansy arse if you ever called him goth. Because Eldritch, for all his airs of trashy aristocracy, hates goths. Calls them darklings, in a very disdainful manner. His music is inspired by Leonard Cohen, a Canadian poet with no actual singing voice, though the tone of his voice does resemble Eldritch’s. Cohen is bitter, dears, not goth. He’s also quite political. His lyrics, unlike Eldritch’s, though, are completely straight forward.” She shoved her hair out of her face, so she wouldn’t be eating it as she continued to put the audience through a lecture they had most certainly not been expecting. She wondered if she would be receiving an angry call from James Carroway saying that she wasn’t supposed to scare the American audience. “Now, to put things at odds, I have to tell you that Robert Smith is goth. I mean, you look at a picture, yeah, you’ll know it. The hair, the makeup. Raine models himself after Smith on a black day. But Smith... Well, he’s like a teddy bear. He’s so cute and cuddly, playful, and even wears pink from time to time.” That was met with a cheer from the back of the stage. “So yes, he’s cute and cuddly. Maybe a bit too cute and cuddly.” Before Kim could continue, Chatha had run up to a mic, liking the thread that Kim had hit. “Robert Smith i’n’t jus’ cute an’ cuddly! He’s totally adorable! Th’ way ‘e plays t’ th’ camera, all those face scrunchies, an’ all tha’... An’ ‘e’s like a kid f’reve’! Oh, y’ should see ‘im in th’ vid fer Why Can’ Ah Be You, ‘cause he’s all...” She put her hands up to her face, wrinkling her nose and grinning, trying her best to do one of Robert Smith’s more adorable poses. “I’ jus’ makes me wanna hug ‘im t’ death!” She giggled, dancing with the mic stand a bit. “Ah mean, ah know ah have two boyfriends righ’ nah, bu’... Well, ah think Kim ‘ad someone on th’ side when sh’ laid Eldritch, s’ i’ wouldn’ be s’bad if ah laid Smith while ah ‘ad two othe’ boys, righ’? Although ah’d jus’ wanna’ bounce aroun’ wi’ ‘im a bi’ first, see if we coul’ make Raine’s ‘ead explode ‘cause ‘e’s all uptigh’, ‘specially ‘bout ‘is idols an’ all. Ah’d really wanna’ dance wi’ ‘im... Fat Bob, ah mean, no’ Raine. Oh, Robert Smith’s called Fa’ Bob, y’know? ‘Cause, well... ‘E’s no’ a li’l boy anymore, bu’ i’ makes ‘im so much more like a teddy bear, an’ y’ wanna’ hug ‘im over an’ over an’ over an’ over an’--” Kim, even though smiling more genuinely than she had in ages, cut into Chatha’s rant. “Yes, that’s right, she’s talking about a goth. They’re not all like that, or they wouldn’t have the bad rep they have, and far fewer people would accuse them of having sticks shoved up their asses. I knew a goth other than Eb a few years back... A grrl goth, which you actually don’t see much of when you turn to the music industry. The only big name is Siouxsie Sioux, and she started off as a groupie to The Sex Pistols, so how goth is that, really? I guess the Banshees are punk gone goth, much like The Cure. But yeah... As it’s time to actually perform a song again, it would be best to continue with the segue I was trying to make.” She took a deep breath. “I knew a goth grrl, met her in my last year of high school. She change my life, and I’m sure even you Americans know all about the Stone’s Throw ordeal. Not everything I’ve done for her loss has been insane. On the new album, in fact, there’s a rather soft song for it. Shall we have a go?” A soft bassline started up, accompanied only by piano. “You can strike up another pointless conversation, and I’ll smile oh so politely then tell you I’m taken. It’s not really a lie. I’m taken...”*cracks
knuckles* Awright. This here chapter includes: |
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Talk to LL,
the author. |