"... Wasn't too sure if it was you or not and I didn't want to seem like some random creepy dude. We have enough of those running around anyway."
"You bet," Vic said, giving a sideways glance to the skull faced boy tucked behind her. She held her hand out for the blonde to shake, wiping the grazed palm on her shorts first, "God, you really are a fan. I mean, a hard copy? Even my own brother YouTube'd to MP3'd that shit. I'm flattered. Really." She could feel her chest swelling with pride... on the inside. On the outside, she kept the demeanor of not giving a damn. Sometimes, she wondered if her face was versatile enough for any other expression. "I'm Vic. If you hadn't googled that already, creep," she teased, the corner of her mouth tweaking up as she did so.
She settled back into the fence as she remembered a tidbit from the band's history the guy would probably be interested in, "Hey, you know, you're not even close to the shit we've dealt with. Back about a year ago, when we were touring the state, we had this girl who kept showing up backstage, demanding that we take her with us. You know, in return for sex." She ground her cigarette in the fence post, puffing out the last of the smoke from her lungs. "Told her we didn't take on groupies, she didn't take no for an answer. We'd kick her out, she'd hitchhike her way after us." She finished the story as casually as she began it, then her eyes misted over as she reflected on the memory. What she'd left out of the story was that they had to get the police involved and that the girl was a teenage runaway they ended up taking with them to drop her back home. So, really, the girl had gotten what she wanted in the end. Somewhat. "She was a good kid, really."
Vic's phone went off in her pocket and she fished it out to check it without so much as an 'excuse me'. There was a message from her front man, but as she went to check it she saw her own reply to whoever the hell Ρεκαλ was. She'd gotten no response back from them... good? Her face involuntarily went slack as she saw it and began thinking about it again. She managed to shake off the paralysis and read Donovan's message, though the sickness in her stomach was there to stay. She dropped her phone back in her pocket and lifted herself from the fence with a sigh.
"I gotta go," she announced. She tossed her cigarette in a bin and dropped her skateboard wheel-down on the ground, stomping a foot down on it. She turned back to the two behind her, the fan and the Changer. She tapped her finger against her leg a few times, flickered her eyes between them hesitantly, then turned her head away. “See you boys around, I guess.” She skated down the slope then skidded to a stop in the bottom of bowl.
“Hey!” She shouted, looking up at them from below, “You got anything on later?!”
Vic strutted into the garage, the people she'd met literally just this afternoon in tow. The members of I Really Hope We Don't Crash were fiddling with cords and warming up their instruments when she announced her presence with a small, “Hey guys.”
A dirty blonde immediately called out to her, “It would be nice if you could help up with the set up for once, you know.”
She shrugged. “Don't need to. The kit just stays here. No cords or nothing.”
He looked like he wanted to argue some more, but was distracted by the two figures ghosting her, “Who are they supposed to be?” Vic glanced over her shoulder at them.
“Alright,” she said in preparation for what was to come, “This is Alex,” she gestured to him as she said his name, “And Jericho.” She waved at the skull-faced Changer, whose skull tattoo had been shrunk a significant portion for this meeting. He looked... not so scary anymore. Like a normal, decent-looking person. Taking the face masking tattoo away would do wonders for his social life.
She allowed them time to give their own greetings, all while she pondered whether Wendigo/Jericho had given her his real name. Surely he didn't. Did he? He didn't seem to hold a Cape's secret identity in high regard, or his own secrecy, really. It must've been nice not to have those limitations. While on the subject of Wendigo, a classified villain, she surely had to be thinking about how she'd led, no, lured such a villain under the promise of food to her address and the repercussions of doing so. No? Alright. She didn't give a shit, then. Typical.
“Alex, Jericho,” she started again and began pointing around the garage, “The big bear-looking fellow is Rudy, red-head with the eye-bags is Zach, and the asshole,” she jabbed her thumb back at the dirty blonde behind her, “Is Donovan. Our leading man.”
“So what are you guys here for? Our drummer's ass or the free show,” Zach shot in their direction, his teasing directed more towards Vic than the two completely innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire. Vic was taking off her jumper at the same time and immediately ditched it in his face. She sat down in front of the drum set in her black tank top.
“They're here to watch us rehearse,” she said exasperatedly, “And they're holding the pizza, so be fucking nice.”
Jericho and Alex immediately found themselves pounced upon by Rudy and Zach. Donovan stayed behind, eyeing Vic down.
“Seriously, who are these people and why'd you invite them here,” he said in a low voice to her.
“Well, Alex is a fan of the band,” Vic explained slowly enough for a toddler to understand, “And Jericho... Jericho is...” She looked at him from across the garage. Nothing much she could say about him without giving up his Cape identity. “He was hanging at the skate park. He's cool. What's it matter? It's my garage.”
Donovan just shrugged, backing away from her defensive stance, “I guess it doesn't.” He regarded her (as she deliberately avoided his eyes) before managing to squeeze out, "Are you alright?"
Before he got any response, Rudy and Zach returned to their instruments, pizza grease covering their hands. “Are we ready or what?”
“Start with Knock Out, or would you rather...”
"Yeah, alright, to warm up. We can jam to that."
"We're not gonna skip working the new track just cos Vic made us an audience, right?"
Vic looked over at Jericho and Alex, eyes shining brightly. “You boys get comfortable,” she called over to them with a grin, “And, uh, protect your ears somehow.”
She tapped her drumsticks together four times, and the band kicked in. Loud.