Getting the Band Together

Log Info

Title: Getting the Band Together
Characters: Ian, Jerry, and Sunday.
Place: Student Center, Steranko Institute.
Time: Tuesday, May 18, 2010. Evening.
Summary: Ian has arranged a meeting of the musically inclined, and plans for awesomeness are made.

( Student Center First Floor - Steranko Institute )

As you enter the first floor of the student center, the visitor's center is immediately on the right, with a campus map displayed on the wall next to it. To the right is the school's book store, with various little chotchkes with the school logo, snacks, school supplies, and books. Further back is an arcade, with a few pinball machines and video games, though most of them have been replaced with pool tables. There's also a small snack bar that sells hamburgers, pizza, and the like for those that don't want to leave their fun to head to the dining hall.

Tuesday evening, after classes but before curfew, and the student center is hoppin'. Deadlines are all still whole /days/ away, Monday is a fast fading memory, and that means it's a good night for procrastination! And what better way to procrastinate than to shoot some pool and grab a burger with friends? Despite this being a pretty damn good idea, that's not exactly why Sunday Knight finds herself seated at one of the benches in the main hall this evening, fiddling nervously with a guitar pick between her somewhat calloused fingers. She's been sitting here for a good fifteen minutes, waiting for the appointed time she is meant to meet Ian and some kid named Jerry, who is supposed to be another musician on campus. Not only does she like being on-time, but the obsessive earliness is yet another sign of her apprehension - she's /really/ looking forward to being able to play again, and the very idea that she might actually have people to play WITH, and maybe even the beginings of a band in the future.. it's enough to put butterflies in her stomach! So there the little bleached-blonde and befreckled teen sits, rolling the pick from one finger to the next, biting on her lip and looking around for.. well, somebody. Who looks like a "Jerry."

Jerry probably looks more like a 'Brandon' or 'Pierce' as he walks in, dressed in sloppy t-shirt and jeans because they are the most comfortable clothes he has, and loose is good today - he has a viscious black-and-purple bruise blooming on his jaw, the rest hidden under his clothes, and he moves a little stiffly. Still, he scans the crowd for a 'Sunday' and decides the girl fumbling with the guitar pick is a good first choice. He ambles over there casually, hoping he's guessed right. He plops down on the bench beside the girl and looks to her. "Sunday?" he says.

Here's the problem with being the third to enter. The first two get dramatic name calls, while Stoker is stuck with calling himself: "Ian." Of course that's said under breath as the young man walks in. Today he's decked in his usual baggy jeans and a bowling shirt, emblazoned with the Rolling Stone's logo, hands in pockets as he looks about. He notices the bleached blonde of a certain Sunday first and quickly beelines in, giving a nod of greeting before he notices Jerry's… "Getting uppity again, Jerry?" Ian murmurs by way of hello to the fellow guy, straight tones almost enough to make one wonder if he was being serious. Though a second later he does add in, "You okay?"

Sunday would like to think she actually looks like she could be named 'Sunday', what with the pink shirt and jewel-toned blue tights. And the hair. She looks more like a Sunday now that she has platinum blonde hair. Fuschia-painted lips perk from a shy tilt as the stranger zeros in and sits down, to a full-on smile when he says her name. "Yeah! You must be Jerry." The pick is flipped to her left hand as she offers her right.. which is around when she notices what should have been obvious. That's about the time Ian shows up. Uppity? Oh you are AWFUL! Since Ian has already asked it, Sunday won't parrot, and instead looks to Jerry with an obvious degree of concern in her eyes. Yeah, are you okay?

Jerry gives a lopsided smile to Ian. "Intro to Neohuman Combat," he says. "Lost big time, got her phone number, so - win-win," he says, shifting slightly in a vain attempt at comfort. He shakes Sunday's hand, then looks back to Ian. "Yeah, I'm good. Once I bruised her fist againt my reflex field a couple times , she let up," he says.

"Remind me to skip that class," Ian replies, with the lightest of chuckles. One could only imagine how bad things could get if that part was a 'light' work out. Yeah, he might be a decent scrapper, but he wasn't quite sure that he was wanting to experience /that/. No, much better music. "Who's the gal?" He assumed it was such before he grins to Sunday, taking in her pick. "Do you ever not carry something musical with you Blondie?" Small talk aside, the young man finds a chair to sit down on, listening to what the others say for a little longer before adding in: "So what's the plan, boys and girls?"

Sunday arches a brow, a little taken back at first by the idea that this was done in a class.. but then she settles in to the idea of sports in normal highschools, and reminds herself that for people like them, this is really no different. Footballers get injured in practice too. "Well I hope she's at least really cute." She glances up to Ian when he asks the question about who the girl was, nodding her head to second the question, then grins up at the wolf-boy. "No," she replies simply and honestly. "Plan? Uh, you guys wanna grab a burger and talk? I'm kind of starving. But we don't have to stay here if you guys'd rather not."

Jerry drums fingers on his thighs. "Oh, she is," he says, and then: "A burger sounds fantastic. And I think the plan is to, well.. see how well we play together, see how well we mix." He stands, a bit more slowly than normal but he's pushing to look normal, here. "I can sing, and play guitar, acoustic and electric."

Just like sports in high school. And hey, at least they didn't live in Twilight, where people played Super-baseball. That thought along makes Ian frown lightly, though it's quickly gone. Noting that Jerry has mysteriously forgone spilling the girl's name, Ian just chuckles lightly, shaking his head. Ah, young love. At the proclaiment of hunger, he too stands following whereever the others want to leave. He wasn't too bad off himself. Then again, with his metabolism, he always had room for a little bit extra food. "Ditto your stuff Jerry. Though I really learned on the keys more than anything else. I can just stick to the bass if we want to go traditional quatro for the whole thing." Yeah, he'll already conceed, knowing already that Sunday's got him beat. As for Jerry's skill? Well he had really yet to find out.

Oh who needs dish about some random girl who beat Jerry up and thus set his heart aflame when you could instead be talking about MUSIC! It perks Sunday right up, she hops to her feet as the idea of food is agreed upon, leading the pack over to the snack bar as she fishes her wallet out of her pocket. "I play guitar and piano, and I guess I can sing." She shrugs. "I dunno, people say I can." Obviously she doesn't put much stock in that. "Only ever done backup before." When they reach the bar, she gives a quick glance at the menu posted before asking the gentleman behind it, "Boca-burger and fries, please. Oh, and um, is the iced tea over there organic?" That gets her an odd look, and a lot of silence. Sunday forces a smile. "And a ice water, please."

Jerry scratches at a slightly stubbly chin. "Dude, I think we should look at your songwriting, too. Sounded pretty cool, I thought," he says, obviously referring to the notebook he picked up last time they met. At the snack-bar: "Burger, all the way, extra onions, fries, onion rings," he says. "And a Coke."

"Triple burger, extra cheese. And a diet coke please." Yes, diet. He had to watch his figure, after all. Quirking a brow as if to dare any of them to say something, Ian passes his menu over to the waitress. After she's gone, he returns to the thought of music. "I can vouch Blondie," for the singing thing. "Wasn't it you who has all plans on being superstar. Hard to do that these days without doing some vocals." He could carry a tune himself, but… Songwriting? "Heh. Dunno Jerry. Didn't take either of you for the near-emo thing, and lately my writing seems ta bend that way. Well, with a few tweaks perhaps a harder sound but.." He trails, and shrugs. "Any style preferences? Or, y'know a space to practice?" Or a drummer? But that last could wait for now.

As both the boys order cokes, Sunday looks momentarily forelorn and incredibly torn, gnawing at her lower lip for a second.. before ultimately steeling her resolve. It's not that she's worried about calories, it's just that soda stains her teeth! Not to mention the rush and crash her tiny body goes through with all that soda she's not used to - her parents, after all, think refined sugars are the devil. "Gah, you guys are makin' me wish I ordered two just to keep up!" Growing boys. When food is paid for a plopped down on seperate trays for each of them, Sunday grabs hers and head-tilts towards a cluster of tables not far away, where various students have set up to eat, enjoy the wifi, or just chill out. Superstar with singing? Sunny looks pointedly at Ian. "Did Hendrix need stellar vocals to become a rock legend? Did Clapton need more than a few soulful notes in his range?" No! Though in all honesty, Sunday CAN sing - probably the best of the group. But somebody would have to convince her of that. "We should ask Amber about space. She seems to have a line on all the club activities here, so I bet she'd know how we could get a practice spot on a regular basis. And uh, no real style preference I guess.." She wrinkles her nose. "Just no grunge." Says the Pacific Northwesterner.

"Pretty much any sort of rock is OK with me, really. I mainly did covers of classic; not much in the metal or punk vein." Jerry pauses to get his tray and condimants, then follow Sunday to the group of tables. "I could swing emo or blue or something like that, if it came to that," he says.

It was mostly the taste that got Ian. Water? Tasteless and boring. But coke had sweet sweet things that probably caused cancer in labrats, and caused humans to gain super powers after three or four generations. So why not? "They both still fronted," Ian points out to Sunday with a grin before biting into his burgers, letting out a small groan of pleasure as he chews. Now that's meat cooked right! "Also, I second the cornering Amber thing. She may throw boulders like baseball, but she seems to be on the inside with these sorts. And last thing I need for my rep is to piss off a few people by playing a few well placed F# bars while they're trying to study." He takes another bite, thoughtfully thinking before a small grin enters his features. "Let's say we just play it out and see what strikes us. Sounds like we can all, at the very least, agree to just 'rock'. Forget the labels and find something that just works." Except. "No Grunge. Works for me. Flannel's hot anyway." By the time they are even to the table, half of Stoker's burger is gone.

Plopping down in her chair, Sunday notes Ian's half demolished burger and can't help but look a little shocked. .. You're so lanky! "Geez, Wolfie, where the heck does it all /go/?" Stupid boys and their stupid ability to eat stupid amounts of food. After sprinkling an absolutely OBSCENE amount of salt on her fries, Sunday starts to munch away, nodding a few times to Jerry. "Yeah, I'm not totally against emo. All I ask," her eyes shift back to Ian, "Is more old-school punk-inspired riffs, and less ovaries." Yes, she did just say that, and is so unphased by the weirdness of it that she takes a big bite out of her garden burger. Not exactly a priss with food, this one. No bird-pecking - she's /hungry/, damnit! Chewchewchewchew swallow. "I agree though. We should just /play/. Do a couple covers and get a feel for each other, and then just do what we like." Another bite of the burger is taken, and Sunday murmurs around her full mouth about flannel, "Mmou haf /no/ idea."

Jerry is impressed with the way Ian puts way the burger, no doubt; he can't wolf his down the same way, but he make impressive inroads on his then stops to devour half his onion rings. "I can talk to Amber, if you'd like." He grins. "'Just play'. Damn, I like the sound of that," he says, obviously feeling good about this venture. He digs into his burger again, but with the onions there some more chewing involved.

"Into Hershey's cookies and cream." No, he totally wasn't the product of the media marketing machine. Nope. Not at all. As for ovaries? "I think I can keep the girlish figure out of it. Anger's back in style anyway." And that's said with just a slight bit of salt on the side. After all, everything he did was for style, right? Right? Snort. "You know Amber well, Jerry?" Changing tracks suddenly, even as he sets aside the quarter of burger for the moment. "That case then, you can handle that part o' the negotion." And though he wasn't one to show much in the way of anticipation, he couldn't help but to get a twang of… something at the thought of actually playing again. It had been a long time. Too long perhaps. But perhaps sooner than expected. When his sister left, he had figured dropping it all together. "I suppose then we just need some sort of Moniker. Affer all, we're kids with super powers and supposed codenames. It'd been this side of embaressing to be called the O'neders after all." Yes, That Thing You Do reference for the win.

The marketing reference, like the movie reference, goes straight over Sunday's head, and she stares at Ian as if he's just grow a second set of eyes. You are so weird sometimes. Popping a few more fries in her mouth, she washes them down with a swig from her straw and grins softly at Jerry. "Did she try to crush you under a boulder too?" Moniker? For some reason, Sunday nearly chokes on her water. After coughing a few times and waving her hand in that kind of dismissive 'I'm fine' sort of way, she musters up a smile and says "Don't ask me, I stay out of band names. The only contribution I made to my last one was spell-checking and proper punctuation." Insert burger in mouth, chew.

"Kind of, yes," Jerry smiles, pointing to the still-morphin bruise on his jaw. "Just with her fist, though; I could have caught a boulder. Anyway, I'll ask her. And.. mmmm, a naaamme," he muses. "Let's play together a bit before we think about that; might have something to do with what we play and I don't wanna jinx the process," he says.

Ian had plenty of time to soak up pop culture - Either through his upbringing when he spent time with his perma-grounded twin, or on the road at some scuzzy motel or another. Ignoring Sunday's looks at him (Cause after all, he was funny, damnit!), Ian instead nods to Jerry's words. Fist? Number? Oh. Two and two together. Interesting. Instead of voicing such, Ian says, "Deal. Play first, then brilliant wordplay that both expresses our inner genius and sense of utter disdain for the accepted syntax of modern musicians." Cheeky? Who knew? But his burger was gone. Like magic! "Let us know when you get a spot Jerry, and I'll start hauling my gear and we play. I never thought'd I'd admit it. But I'm kinda excited. And we end up, y'know, not sucking, I might be more so. Who knows?" Pause. "I might actually squeel then or something." By his tone, it was more likely that he would find fortune in gold dubloons on their walk home.

…. Suddenly, it all makes perfect sense. Sunday blinks a few times as she absorbs this notion, very easily seeing perky happy and scary-strong Amber tossing Jerry around like a rag-doll, then flirting and giving him her number and the green light to call. Sunday grins at him. "Aaahh, got it. I can see you are a guy who enjoys excitement in his life, Jerry." And Sunny seems to approve, both of this and of his idea to just hold off on a name. "Yeah. Hey! And if you know any drummers, you could definitely get 'em involved. Maybe I could put up a flyer or something. See if anyone else wants in." The burger is consumed in short order and Sunday begins to focus on her incredibly salty fries, smirking softly at Ian's little rant about the name. When he admits to being excited, however, she smiles in earnest. "Me too! And I don't care if we suck, I still might squeel."

Jerry flashes a smile as he finishes up his burger in third place, and starts in on the rest of his onion rings at a more sedate pace. "Well, boring is bad. Mmm, I don't know any drummers, but I'll keep my ear to the ground." He chuckles at Ian. "I'll hold you to the squealing, by the way." He frowns, fishes his cell phone out of his pocket. "Huh. Dad. Lemme go take this, OK?" he says, wiping his mouth and standing up. "I might have to catch up with you guys later," he says, walking quickly for the less-noisy outside.

Ian is about to point out that boring is perhaps a good thing sometimes. Just not in rock. Instead he nods, holding up his glass in mock toast. "To rock n' roll. And a band-to-be-named." Of course then Jerry has to go, and Stoker gives a wave, going back to his drink, suddenly thoughtful. Dad? Seemed like every relationship between parent and child here had a story behind it. Perhaps it was just the nature of having powers. Or just the nature of parenthood. "You squeel, by the way sunday," Ian finally murmurs after a few more seconds. "You can never say anything I do has overies ever again."

Sunday lifts her own plastic cup and taps it in toast, then sucks a healthy amount of water through the straw. She glances over as Jerry makes his leave - thinking something very similar to what goes through Ian's head - and waves before turning back to the wolf boy. "Alone again, naturally." Now, song lyric references, Sunday can get behind. Taking up about half of her remaining fries, Sunday dumps them onto Ian's tray where his burger used to be and them resumes eating her own pile. He mentions squeeling, and she leans in to hear his lowered voice better.. only to brighten into a devious grin. "I beg your pardon, but I never said your music has ovaries. I simply requested that it doesn't, just incase. You won't let me see the good stuff." She chomps with satisfaction on a fry. "And besides, I'm a girl, I /do/ have ovaries and I'll squeel if I want to!" As a means of demonstration, she shakes an excited fist and squeels, albeit softly. "See?"

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