DJ Woodstock
Woodstock thought about what Emerald said, looking to the bottle. Distraction... He brought the bottle to his lips to drink again, but found little strength to do so, instead setting it down with a sigh. He slowly got up with difficulty, standing with a tilt, attempting to not fall over. He made his drunken way back to the door, pushing against it, regardless of the sign that said 'pull'. A darkly-tanned man, speaking with a heavy Aussie accent, laughed as he opened the door for the boy.
"Oi, there, mate...it says right there! Pull...P-U-L-L." The Aussie gave another laugh as Woodstock glared. "Aw, don't be a bugga...say, you're the DJ, aint'cha?" He smiled as Woodstock gave a slow nod. "Well, alright! Just the lad I was looking for! See, now, me mate thinks that he's better than ya...he wanted ta challenge ya to a dual." Woodstock nodded with a grim smile upon his face. He was gonna destroy the man.
The Aussie gave a laugh and went to find the challenger, while Woodstock staggered toward his own DJ set, numerous times almost collapsing again. He finally tripped his way over, catching himself on the turntables, quite accidentally stopping the music, catching the attention of the party. At the second DJ set, a quite portly man stood with his arms crossed, his style suggesting American gangster, but his tongue heavy with German. The man laughed as he saw Woodstock stagger upright, grabbing the mic in front of him. "Ladies und genteelmen...I, DJ Drückend, propose a battle with our deer DJ Woodstock." The collective crowd cheered, encouraging the battle, Drückend looking very smug, while Woodstock held a solemnly mellow face. After grabbing Woodstock's microphone, Skivv jumped up onto a table between them, claiming the title of announcer.
"Alright, alright, party people, it seems that this battle's goin' DOWN!" He switched hands as cheers inturrupted. "Alright, since DJ Drückend called this battle, Woodstock gets to go first..." He looked over as Woodstock, who made a motion with his hand. "...but he passes it off to Drückend!" Skivv knew what Woodstock was doing; he was sizing up his opponent, seeing their skill. "PLEASE put those hands together for...D-J-Drückend!" As the crowd cheered, the German DJ set about it setting a beat, then layered out sounds that would rival that of Woodstock's, or so the collective thought became. The mixture of foreign words and beats with the talent as the DJ covered all the bases: mixing, moshing, cutting, looping, origional sound...even Skivv secretly began to wonder if Woodstock could be bested.
Woodstock, from start to finish of listening, had not changed in face nor body expression, his only thoughts being slight criticisms that only he would pick up. As Drückend ended, a smug smile playing upon his lips, Woodstock only nodded his head, but remained silent as Skivv called to him, announcing his turn. Woodstock, while his brown-skinned friend did this, had retrieved his suitcase, opening it to reveal, along with plenty of papers, tapes, and other items, a record. He removed the blank white square, slipping a hand in to receive the black circle, gingerly setting the record on one of the turntables, setting down the needle, then playing the circle.
A series of screeches, like nails on a chalkboard, emitted from the speakers. The crowd first covered their ears, then began to boo, Woodstock ignoring them, folding his arms.
After a minute, though, one hand shot down, stopping the record. He then dragged the record backward, the scraping sounds no longer, but instead the voice of woman, beautiful in voice, but scared in tone. "Please..." He set his other hand on the disk as he skillfully moved the needle and disk accordingly, the woman's beautiful voice begging: "Please...do not take what you see for granted. Please..." Starting the second turntable, a slight beat was added to the woman...the beat to Haddaway's "What Is Love?". He slowly increased the other sound with time to the woman: "...just show me...tell me...what is love?" The last three words were matched in the woman's voice and in the song, as he continued from there, the beat the same to Haddaway, and very dancable, yet was filled with emotion and soul. It was more than just music, it was a story; they all knew it, but could not name it.
As Woodstock finished, the voice stating against the silence, "...what is love?" The crowd, stunned by talent, shock, and tears, erupted into enormous applause as Woodstock put away the record, clicking the suitcase locked. Standing again, he looked about the crowd, smiling, before he bent over the set, blacking out as the alcohol had its final effect.
Woodstock thought about what Emerald said, looking to the bottle. Distraction... He brought the bottle to his lips to drink again, but found little strength to do so, instead setting it down with a sigh. He slowly got up with difficulty, standing with a tilt, attempting to not fall over. He made his drunken way back to the door, pushing against it, regardless of the sign that said 'pull'. A darkly-tanned man, speaking with a heavy Aussie accent, laughed as he opened the door for the boy.
"Oi, there, mate...it says right there! Pull...P-U-L-L." The Aussie gave another laugh as Woodstock glared. "Aw, don't be a bugga...say, you're the DJ, aint'cha?" He smiled as Woodstock gave a slow nod. "Well, alright! Just the lad I was looking for! See, now, me mate thinks that he's better than ya...he wanted ta challenge ya to a dual." Woodstock nodded with a grim smile upon his face. He was gonna destroy the man.
The Aussie gave a laugh and went to find the challenger, while Woodstock staggered toward his own DJ set, numerous times almost collapsing again. He finally tripped his way over, catching himself on the turntables, quite accidentally stopping the music, catching the attention of the party. At the second DJ set, a quite portly man stood with his arms crossed, his style suggesting American gangster, but his tongue heavy with German. The man laughed as he saw Woodstock stagger upright, grabbing the mic in front of him. "Ladies und genteelmen...I, DJ Drückend, propose a battle with our deer DJ Woodstock." The collective crowd cheered, encouraging the battle, Drückend looking very smug, while Woodstock held a solemnly mellow face. After grabbing Woodstock's microphone, Skivv jumped up onto a table between them, claiming the title of announcer.
"Alright, alright, party people, it seems that this battle's goin' DOWN!" He switched hands as cheers inturrupted. "Alright, since DJ Drückend called this battle, Woodstock gets to go first..." He looked over as Woodstock, who made a motion with his hand. "...but he passes it off to Drückend!" Skivv knew what Woodstock was doing; he was sizing up his opponent, seeing their skill. "PLEASE put those hands together for...D-J-Drückend!" As the crowd cheered, the German DJ set about it setting a beat, then layered out sounds that would rival that of Woodstock's, or so the collective thought became. The mixture of foreign words and beats with the talent as the DJ covered all the bases: mixing, moshing, cutting, looping, origional sound...even Skivv secretly began to wonder if Woodstock could be bested.
Woodstock, from start to finish of listening, had not changed in face nor body expression, his only thoughts being slight criticisms that only he would pick up. As Drückend ended, a smug smile playing upon his lips, Woodstock only nodded his head, but remained silent as Skivv called to him, announcing his turn. Woodstock, while his brown-skinned friend did this, had retrieved his suitcase, opening it to reveal, along with plenty of papers, tapes, and other items, a record. He removed the blank white square, slipping a hand in to receive the black circle, gingerly setting the record on one of the turntables, setting down the needle, then playing the circle.
A series of screeches, like nails on a chalkboard, emitted from the speakers. The crowd first covered their ears, then began to boo, Woodstock ignoring them, folding his arms.
After a minute, though, one hand shot down, stopping the record. He then dragged the record backward, the scraping sounds no longer, but instead the voice of woman, beautiful in voice, but scared in tone. "Please..." He set his other hand on the disk as he skillfully moved the needle and disk accordingly, the woman's beautiful voice begging: "Please...do not take what you see for granted. Please..." Starting the second turntable, a slight beat was added to the woman...the beat to Haddaway's "What Is Love?". He slowly increased the other sound with time to the woman: "...just show me...tell me...what is love?" The last three words were matched in the woman's voice and in the song, as he continued from there, the beat the same to Haddaway, and very dancable, yet was filled with emotion and soul. It was more than just music, it was a story; they all knew it, but could not name it.
As Woodstock finished, the voice stating against the silence, "...what is love?" The crowd, stunned by talent, shock, and tears, erupted into enormous applause as Woodstock put away the record, clicking the suitcase locked. Standing again, he looked about the crowd, smiling, before he bent over the set, blacking out as the alcohol had its final effect.